


Involved

by ItalysPasta



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Bad Parenting, Childhood Trauma, Eventual Romance, Family Issues, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Rated M for language and sensitive topics, Rich Antonio, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Troubled Lovino, but nobody wants to admit it, everybody has a lot of problems, everybody's parents are shitty in their own way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 58,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalysPasta/pseuds/ItalysPasta
Summary: In which Feliciano got in trouble with the most dangerous guy at school and Lovino made matters worse by acting on his protective instincts. Things get even more complicated when the new honor student, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, decides to get involved for reasons that Lovino struggles to comprehend.





	1. Four Fading Crescent Moons

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally supposed to start publishing this story only when I've wrapped it up, but I realized it will be longer than I expected and I'd like to hear people's opinions while I'm still working on it.
> 
> After completing my previous story, Flawed, Yet Still So Perfect, I felt like there were certain things that I could have done better, which is what originally inspired me to write a new story. I tried to make the main characters of this story as authentic as possible, which is why their backstories and some of their personality traits are based on personal experiences, either directly or indirectly. This will also be a lot darker than my previous story, so if depictions of mental health issues or violence make you uncomfortable, I don't recommend for you to read it. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the first chapter!

Why was it always when he was supposed to go to bed that hell broke loose inside his head?

Why couldn't he just to lie down, close his eyes and drift into a state of sweet oblivion where he didn't have to worry about the pile of problems that threatened to collapse on top of him non-stop at daytime? Why couldn't his mind just let him do that, but instead made sure that he didn't forget _a single one_ of the reasons why his life was a complete mess that he didn't know how to fix?

Lovino rolled onto his stomach, hugging his pillow in his arms as he willed his heartbeat to just _calm the fuck down_. He couldn't even name the exact moment when his heart had started beating like crazy in his chest, making that all-too-familiar shaky and just _physically_ restless feeling spread through his whole body. Staring at his hand, which he could tell was obviously trembling even in the dark room, he knew that it would be an achievement if he managed to get a few hours of sleep tonight.

The Italian took in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his trembling hand tightly against the mattress. God, he hated feeling weak, he hated it so _fucking_ much… And yet it didn't seem like his heartbeat was about to calm down any time soon and his chest was starting to feel uncomfortably tight as he tried to take slow, even breaths that somehow didn't seem to provide his lungs with enough air.

Why did his own body have to turn against him like this, why couldn't it just let him sleep and ignore the occasional, muffled sobs that reached his ears through the wall on his right?

It wasn't enough that Lovino felt disgustingly pathetic for not having enough control over his own mind to block the wave of thoughts and feelings that had the power to reduce him into a trembling heap of anxiety in a matter of seconds. It wasn't enough that he couldn't fucking _sleep_ , which should have been one of the easiest things a human could possibly do, because of how much of a pathetic excuse of a person he was. No, because it wasn't only _him_ who had to suffer because of his pitifulness, but his useless ass was too weak and pathetic to protect the person who was crying in the room next to his, the person who he was _supposed_ to protect because he was his _goddamn older brother_.

Lovino tried to shut his ears from the sobbing sounds to no avail, as the more he tried, the louder they seemed to echo in the darkness of his room. He hated it, he hated it so _fucking much that_ there was nothing he could do to make it stop, to make his brother stop crying himself to sleep _every fucking night_ , since he knew all too well that there was no way he could block out the sounds, to pretend he didn't hear them.

Lovino's chest felt painfully tight and the desperate breath that he tried to suck in hitched in his throat, which was getting blocked by the growing lump that he couldn't seem to be able to swallow down no matter how hard he tried. Damn it, he hated all of it so much, so much that the aching in his chest turned into a bitter burn as he clenched his trembling hands into weak fists.

How was someone who couldn't even _breathe_ supposed to protect anyone?

The Italian clenched his fists tighter, feeling his nails dig into his palms. The stinging pain offered him a short sense of relief, giving him something concrete to focus his anxious mess of a mind on. However, it was quickly overweighted by the burning in his lungs, which filled his mind with a fresh wave of panic. He needed air, he _needed_ to get air into his lungs _now_ or else he would literally pass out.

Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, Lovino focused on drawing in slow, controlled breaths, but the tightness in his chest only seemed to get worse, along with the burning in his lungs.

 _Exhale. You forgot to fucking_ exhale _._

Lovino drew in another breath, this time holding it in for a second before releasing it shakily, only to repeat the action again, fighting the urge to take in the much-needed air in desperate, erratic gulps.

The burning in his lungs slowly started to ease, but the aching tightness in his chest remained. The sobbing sounds coming from the room next to his sounded more muffled now, breaking the silence of his dark room less frequently.

_He must be finally falling asleep._

A shaky breath escaped Lovino's lips in small sigh. He couldn't help the sense of relief he felt at the thought, even though a sickening feeling of disgust at himself followed shortly after.

_Am I relieved that at least Feli will be getting some sleep, or am I just relieved that I won't have to hear him cry anymore, at least not tonight?_

Lovino didn't want to answer that question - after all, it would have only made him despise himself even more, if that was even possible at this point. In the end, it hardly even made any difference, since his brother would just cry himself to sleep again on the next night.

_And there's nothing you can do about that._

The taunting voice inside his head made Lovino dig his nails deep into the skin on his palms again.

Things had been better for a while, when they'd been staying on their grandfather's farm in Italy for almost two months. Feliciano had been happy, or at least happier than Lovino had seen him in months. The physical distance between the small farm in Italy and their apartment here had almost enabled Lovino to pretend that his life wasn't a complete mess that would explode in his face the moment he returned to Florida.

 _Almost_.

And now that they were back in their apartment and school would start again on the next day, Lovino felt ridiculous for letting himself succumb to that false sense of comfort. It made every sob Feliciano let out in his room stab at his heart more painfully, reminding him of his own weakness and cowardice, his inability to keep that genuine smile on his brother's face instead of the fake one that he was now forced to look at.

Lovino lay still on his bed, chin resting on his pillow and unfocused eyes fixed at the wall in front of him. Tired of clenching his fists, he relaxed his hands, which weren't trembling as violently anymore. Blinking his eyes slowly, he let his gaze fall on the pair of hands resting on the mattress in front of him. In the nearly dark room, the color of his skin could have been grey, even though the trip to Italy had turned his naturally tan skin a darker shade of golden brown. Studying in Florida, he shouldn't have needed a trip to Italy to get a tan, but the difference was that while here he avoided going out as much as he could, in Italy he had spent most of his time in some quiet spot on the farm or strolling around the surrounding countryside, enjoying the rare sense of freedom.

Only to have that freedom snatched away from him the moment their plane had landed on Miami International Airport.

Heavy silence filled the dark room as Lovino kept staring at his hands, face blank and chest heavy with the hopelessness of a chicken waiting at the doorstep of a slaughterhouse, knowing he was doomed but with no power whatsoever to affect his fate. His fingers were long and slender relative to the size of his hands, tendons and veins on the backside of his hands prominent, along with the bones in his wrists. When he turned his palms up, he could still see the marks left by his nails, four fading crescent moons on each palm, barely visible in the dark.

After over two months, he would have to go back to school tomorrow.

That thought alone was enough to drown out any other thought in his mind, filling him with that hopeless sense of doom that was enough to momentarily paralyze his previously trembling body. Well, actually it wasn't so much the fact that _he_ had to go there that terrified him so much, but the fact that his _brother_ , who was one grade below him, would be coming as well.

No, getting beaten up himself was the last thing on the list of things that were overwhelming him with dread at the moment. After all, if he was too weak to defend himself, it was his problem and his problem alone if someone decided to beat his pathetic ass.

But _Feliciano_ , on the other hand...

Lovino couldn't handle the idea of Feliciano getting hurt again. He couldn't handle the idea that if those dirty bastards touched his brother again, Lovino would have no one else but himself and his own stupidity to blame for it. After all, it had been Lovino who had lost his temper and thought he could solve everything with his fists, even though he must have been a complete idiot for ever thinking that those bastards would leave them alone after that. Or now that he thought about it, maybe he had never even though that to begin with. He had probably been too furious at the idea of someone daring to lay their hands on _his_ brother, his little brother who was simply too sweet and vulnerable for his own good, to bother stopping to think about the consequences.

He really was a complete idiot.

His eyes, which had for a moment been fixed at the wall in front of him, dropped back to his hands, the angry scowl on his face deepening at the way they had started to tremble again, only this time in nothing but anger.

He _hated_ those disgusting bastards for ever going even _near_ his brother, he _hated_ himself for being stupid enough to try to make them pay for it in a fit of mindless fury, and most of all, he _hated_ himself for always being too weak or too stupid to keep his brother from getting hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the first chapter - please tell me your thoughts on it in the comments! Since these are short chapters, the next one will be up this weekend!


	2. Stripes of Cloudless Blue Sky

Antonio stood on the porch of his new house, enjoying the refreshing breeze caressing the bare skin on his arms, which were sweaty from the heat and the laps he'd run during his first practice with the track team. The cream-colored villas of the neighborhood basked in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, glimmering swimming pools shaded by the large, feathered leaves of the palm trees lining the gardens. The peaceful silence enveloping the scenery was broken by the soft rumble of a car engine somewhere down the road, followed by the sight of several birds flying off the roof of one of the houses, startled by the sound.

Antonio granted himself a minute to just stand there, observing his new neighborhood while idly wondering if he'd get to live there until the end of his last year of high school. He supposed that was the plan, although it wouldn't be the first time if their plans changed due to a prosperous business opportunity that his parents simply couldn't miss.

Tearing his eyes away from the peaceful scenery, Antonio finally turned to type in the passcode to open the front door, entering the cool interior of the house. The lights were off, which didn't come as a surprise to the Spaniard, who knew that his parents had left for a business trip while he had been at school. Even though they'd just come back from Chicago, where they'd taken care of some paperwork concerning the selling of their old house, they were already on their way to New York after only spending a few days getting settled in in the new house.

It was clear from the way the house looked that they had just moved in: There were still some cardboard boxes lining the walls of the entrance hall, which looked bleak and empty in their spotless whiteness, as most of the paintings that Antonio had got used to seeing at their previous place were still in some of those boxes, yet to be unpacked. He took off his shoes and headed straight to the kitchen, where he took a protein quark from the fridge and a spoon from one of the drawers - he would have a proper dinner later, but eating something with a high protein content was important after practice. Then he made his way back to the entrance hall and up the polished, wooden staircase, all the way to the third floor.

The ceiling in his room, which was located on the top floor of the house, was slanted but still quite high like in all the other rooms in their new house. His new, king-sized bed stood on the left, under one of the large ceiling windows, while the office desk was located on the other side of the room, with a small sofa and table in the middle. All the furniture was already in the room, including a tall bookshelf and cabinet on the back wall and a fluffy carpet on the floor, but the many cardboard boxes littering the floor and the fact that most of the shelves in the bookshelf were empty made it obvious that he was still in the process of settling in.

The Spaniard dropped his bag on the carpet, then plopped down in his office chair, placing the container of quark and the spoon on the desk and grabbing the bottle of water that he had left there on the previous day. He hadn't thought he'd felt particularly tired during the day, but now that he was alone in his room without anything urgent to do, he suddenly felt exhausted. He would have loved to walk over to the bed and stretch himself out on it, but after years of having his mother tell him not to lie on his bed before changing into his sleeping clothes, he would have felt guilty about doing so.

Instead, he settled with taking a long gulp of not-so-cold water from the bottle while leaning against the backrest of the office chair. The Spaniard looked through the ceiling window above him, his eyes met with stripes of cloudless blue sky between the window blinds as his mind went through the events of his first day as a high school senior. Like the countless other times when he'd changed schools, his day had started with him being guided to the front of the classroom, where he'd had to introduce himself as the new student while facing the curious stares of his new classmates.

To most people, being the sole target of the attention of a class full of strangers might have sounded like a dreadful experience, but after being in that particular spot for more times than he could name, Antonio had realized how useful it could actually be: It didn't only provide him with the opportunity to observe all of his new classmates at once, but it gave him the chance to see how they reacted to seeing _him_ , which was much more useful for forming first impressions of them.

That way, he could usually quickly determine who looked friendly and who didn't, which again helped him to decide who he should associate with and who he should stay away from. This time, the only people who had belonged to the latter category were a bunch of guys who had been sitting at the back of the class, looking at him with various degrees of spitefulness on their faces. They had looked exactly like the typical troublemakers that Antonio had met in the countless private schools he'd attended before, and especially the guy with platinum-blond hair sitting in the center of the group had had a particularly menacing look in his eyes, which Antonio could've sworn had tinted slightly to purple.

After hearing his stomach let out a low rumbling sound, Antonio reached out to grab his protein quark and spoon from the desk. He opened the lid slowly while continuing to think about the impressions that his new classmates had left on him. While he was the type of person to get along well with most people, he knew that when it came to people who were deliberately looking for trouble, things could always take an unexpected turn. That was why he had already decided to avoid associating with the troublesome-looking guys from homeroom class whenever he had the choice.

The Spaniard had been lucky to find out that out of the classes that he'd had today, he only shared English with the particular group guys. However, when he had made his way to English class, he had witnessed something that had remained bothering him at the back of his mind until now: The platinum-haired, menacing-looking guy had bumped into another classmate of Antonio while passing him in the hallway. It had been the short, auburn-haired boy who had been wearing a thick-looking red pullover regardless of the hot weather and whose peculiarly grumpy expression had caught the Spaniard's attention earlier during homeroom class. What Antonio found concerning about the incident was that it hadn't looked at all like an accident, and he had even seen the platinum-haired guy smirk gleefully as he'd continued his way into the classroom.

While the auburn-haired boy's face had been hidden by his hood - which he had been wearing over his head most of the time, apart from homeroom class when the teacher had told him to remove it – Antonio hadn't missed the way he'd squared his shoulders and clenched his fists as if resisting the urge to run after the guy who had just bumped into him. That, as well as the grumpy expression that had seemed to be stuck on his face, had made him wonder whether it was just a coincidence that the platinum-haired guy chose the particular kid to bump into, or if he was in some more serious trouble with the troublesome-looking group of guys.

Antonio dug into his blueberry-flavored snack, feeling a small frown make its way onto his face. He had witnessed many different forms of bullying during his life, and seeing people do their best to make others' lives miserable never ceased to anger him, to the point where it was hard just to stand by and watch. In his last year of elementary school, when they'd been living in Hong Kong, there had been one occasion where he _hadn't_ just stood by and watched when a group of guys had pushed around a kid half their size and took his lunch money. However, after the Spaniard had been sent to the principal's office for being involved in a fight, his parents had made it clear to him that it was everybody's own responsibility to take care of themselves.

It might have felt wrong, but it wasn't his place to get involved in other people's problems, Antonio thought, his brows still creased in that small frown. That way he would only get _himself_ into trouble, and if there was anything he was supposed to avoid as much as unsatisfactory performance at school or in sprinting competitions, it was getting into any sort of trouble that would harm his reputation and his future opportunities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts on it in the comments!
> 
> Most of the chapters in this story will be quite short (though these first two are the shortest), since dividing the story into short chapters that each have a certain key idea makes it easier for me to keep track of the plot, compared to having long chapters with several different scenes. I'll keep updating every week to make up for the shortness of the chapters, at least for as long as I have enough completed chapters in store!
> 
> The third chapter will reveal more about Antonio's past, and it will be up on the next weekend!


	3. Moonlight

Antonio had always been good at remembering things.

Often when he was sitting in an exam room and trying to think of an answer to a question, he could recall an image of what the page of the textbook where he'd seen the information looked like, down to the key sentences and the layout of pictures. He could usually remember the names of all the people in his classes after the first week he'd spent at a new school, some because he'd personally talked to them and the rest just from hearing them during attendance.

Most of the time he was thankful for his excellent memory, which enabled him to score highly in his exams and made it very rare that he forgot about something that he was supposed to do. However, there were also instances when he wished his memory wasn't so good, for it wasn't something he could switch on and off; it didn't let him choose which things he remembered down to every little detail and which not.

The 10th of May, almost exactly two years and three months ago, in Nice, France, was the perfect example of something that Antonio wished he didn't remember so vividly, without any of that time-induced fuzziness that tended to blur memories of ordinary and less eventful days.

Still, even after all that time, after moving to a different country twice and switching schools three times, Antonio could feel the memories flood his mind the moment he closed his eyes at night, tired after his first day of school and track practice in Florida.

Or at least he _had_ been tired a moment ago, lying on his bed below the large ceiling window in his room, admiring the outline of the nearly full moon that illuminated his room with its soft glow through the cracks between the window blinds. However, the moment those memories crowded his mind, he could feel the fuzzy sleepiness quickly dissipate from his system, replaced by a jittery sense of restlessness that made the air in the air-conditioned room suddenly feel unpleasantly stuffy.

He could remember the rush of adrenaline in his veins, flowing through his body until it reached his head, blocking out any unnecessary background noise while sharpening his senses. The sound of his own heartbeat and breathing was impossibly loud in his ears while he became exceptionally aware of the roughness of the track field under his fingertips and the tension in his muscles as he waited for the command to spring up.

Every thought in his mind had been tightly focused on the moment, as if everything in his life so far had been a lead-up to that moment and that moment alone.

 _No, not_ as if _. That's exactly how it was._

Antonio opened his eyes, realizing that there was no way he would be falling asleep anytime soon once he got on that train of thought. The earlier so soft moonlight suddenly seemed sinister, reminding the Spaniard of a story he'd read as a child, one with pictures of dark woods and werewolves howling at a full moon.

Which was obviously nonsense and not something any self-respecting six-year-old should have been scared of.

Now the moonlight didn't scare Antonio, and neither did werewolves, and yet somehow the light covers he was lying under were starting to stick to his skin unpleasantly as his mind went over the events that seemed to have been engraved in his mind without his permission.

He remembered the loud bang ripping through the sound of blood rushing in his ears, he remembered his body surging forward while his mind seemed to have been left behind at the start line, unable to keep up. His eyes had been fixed forward but he didn't have a clear memory of the view in front of him, as if everything around him had been blurred while his body was set on autopilot, not needing further instructions after having practiced for that very moment for years.

The pounding of his feet against the surface of the field had been all he had been able to register until he had become aware of the last curve looming in front of him, telling him that he only had around 80 feet left before he would cross the finish line. In that moment, all the thoughts from before the race had broken through the blurred haze filling his mind, sending a spike of triumph through his consciousness as he finally realized that the view in front of him was devoid of fellow competitors.

_He was first, he would actually manage to do what he had been training for for years and his parents and scouts for prestigious high schools were sitting in the audience, watching him._

He still remembered that very moment, the very fraction of a second during which it had happened:

The tip of his right shoe came into contact with the ground too early, interrupting the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the ground and sending him tumbling forwards while a sharp pain tore through his ankle. He crashed onto the ground, the rough surface of the field ripping through the skin on his palms, but he hadn't even properly come to a halt before he pushed himself off the ground with his stinging palms, biting his teeth together as he put his weight on his injured foot, which almost betrayed him and made him fall back onto the ground.

He remembered seeing the blurry outlines of the other competitors get smaller in front of him even though he hadn't been able to pinpoint the moment when they'd got past him, his mind unable to properly process anything but the combination of the pain in his ankle and the crushing sense of horror and numbing disbelief that had quickly filled his chest until it felt like it would physically burst.

Antonio felt a twinge of pain in his right ankle, as if his body wanted to show him that the memory wasn't only engraved in his mind but every bit of his being. A familiar tightness filled his chest, nothing compared to that day but still enough to cause a shaky breath to leave his lips.

After he had finally made his way over the finish line in last place, everything had faded into a blur as his mind had struggled to comprehend that he had really screwed up - that he had screwed up what had been his chance to show everyone what he could do after all those years of persistent training, that he had failed miserably in front of the scouts, surely ruining his chances of getting accepted into a prestigious high school. However, when he had seen his parents after having his coach perform first aid on his injured ankle, the reality of it all had finally sunk into his blurry consciousness.

_Disappointment._

_Cold, silent disappointment_.

That had been all he had seen on his parents' faces when they had exchanged a few words with his coach and taken him to the nearest hospital for a proper check-up, only showing concern for the physical injury, not offering him a single comforting word or gesture. The coldness on his parents' faces had seeped into Antonio's heart like the cold moonlight seeping in through the window blinds in his room, freezing him from the inside and making him unable to speak a single word or shed a single tear.

That was a feeling Antonio was sure he would never forget, for it was the moment when he had realized for the first time how little sympathy his parents really had for him. Sure, they had always loved to tell their friends and acquaintances how talented and well-mannered their son was, and they had always told him that they expected him to achieve great things and one day take over their company. It was just that before that day, Antonio hadn't realized how _conditional_ his parents' love and approval really was.

Maybe he should have realized it earlier, he should have realized that to his parents, he seemed to be nothing more than the heir to their company and a shiny trophy they could show off at dinner parties. He should have realized that the way they had encouraged him in his studies and convinced him to focus on a single sport instead of the variety of different activities he had been doing for fun as a kid had been a way of steering him towards the path they wanted him to take in life. He should have realized that even though they hadn't made it seem like they were forcing him into anything, he most likely wouldn't have been given a say in any of those decisions had he not complied so readily, truly believing that his parents were genuinely thinking of his happiness and what was best for him.

However, Antonio doubted there were many kids who didn't at least _try_ to believe that their parents genuinely cared about them. Everybody _wanted_ to be loved unconditionally by their parents, and that was the reason why the Spaniard had been able to hold onto that belief for more than fifteen years, until it had been cracked by the cold disappointment in his parents' eyes in the end of his last year of middle school, after the disastrous sprinting final.

After that day, Antonio had for the first time in his life lost his motivation for school and sprinting. For the first time in his life, he had found it hard to see the point in spending hours every day after school studying for his exams. His times had only got worse each day he went to running practice, even though his ankle had recovered fine from the minor sprain. His parents had got more and more exasperated at his inability to explain what was wrong with him, not forgetting to remind him how hard he would have to study to have any chances of being accepted into a prestigious high school now that he had missed the opportunity to be scouted.

His sprinting coach had been the only person to show him any understanding, and the Spaniard had the feeling that he had probably figured out that the reason behind his sudden loss of motivation went deeper than just personal disappointment in his performance. He had asked him if sprinting was something that Antonio wanted to do himself, which was a question that the Spaniard hadn't known the answer to himself – in fact, at the time, he hadn't been sure if he was really doing anything for himself, or if everything was just a part of his parents' plan.

Of course, he couldn't have admitted that to his coach, and he had explained his lack of enthusiasm by tiredness. That hadn't even been a complete lie, for ever since the day of the race, he had been unable to close his eyes without remembering the look disappointment on his parents' faces, which had made it hard for him to fall asleep.

After three weeks of feeling like the sense of purpose had disappeared from his life, his father had come up to him one day, announcing that he'd secured a contact within one of the high schools he wanted Antonio to go to, and that they were willing to take him in based on his past success in sprinting competitions and given that he scored highly enough in his end-of-term exams. He had ruffled Antonio's hair with that usual smile he had given him whenever he had come home with a shiny gold medal or a test paper with an A on it, and as pathetic as it was, Antonio had been so relieved to regain his parents' approval that he had been able to push any feelings of being betrayed to a far corner at the back of his mind.

Deep down, he might have known that he was only fooling himself, refusing to see the truth that was too painful for him to accept, but nevertheless, his life had returned to how it had been before the disastrous competition: His times had started getting better and he had occupied himself by studying vigorously for his exams, determined to get accepted into the high school that was known for its track and field team and make his parents proud.

And that was what he had been doing up to this day, spending his days working hard to do well both at academics and in sprinting and struggling to fall asleep at night, kept awake by the nagging thoughts that he didn't always manage to keep at the back of his mind. However, while the idea that all he was doing with his life was fulfilling the plans his parents had for him might have made him feel uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to how he'd felt during the three weeks after the race, like he was completely lost and lacked any purpose in life.

Antonio pushed the covers off his body, wishing to get rid of the thin layer of sweat covering his skin. Thinking about that race and its consequences always led to the same conclusion, and yet those thoughts still kept pestering him, keeping him from giving his tired body and mind the rest they needed.

The Spaniard took one last look at the incomplete shape of the moon looming above him before drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes. He held his breath for a few seconds before releasing it in a long sigh, estimating that he would have approximately six hours before his alarm would go off and he would have to get ready for morning practice and a long day of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the third chapter of this story! The fourth one will be up on the next weekend, and there will be some more action this time... Meanwhile, please tell me what you thought of this chapter and the story so far! 
> 
> Good luck to everybody who's starting school again next week or has already started! :)


	4. No Other Choice

"Are you _sure_ don't want to join the art club with me?", Feliciano demanded a little breathlessly as he tried to keep up with Lovino's walking speed. "I'm sure they'd still take you even though you didn't file an application."

"I'm sure."

"You're sure that you don't want to join or that they'd still take you?"

"That I don't want to join", Lovino said, not bothering to hide the exasperation from his voice.

"I told you that already before", he continued emphatically, slowing down his pace to face his brother, fixing him with a stern look that said: I have made up my mind and there's nothing you can do to change it.

The look of disappointment on Feliciano's face caused Lovino to feel a pang of guilt in his chest, but his expression stayed stern until the younger Italian let his look fall to the ground. The two of them continued their walk through the school yard in silence, heading towards the building where the school's art and music classes were held. Lovino might have felt guilty about disappointing his brother, but he had made up his mind about not joining the art club this year, no matter how hard his brother tried to persuade him.

Even Grandpa Roma had supported his decision when he'd told him about it during the summer break, but Feliciano found it hard to accept the fact that Lovino would no longer be going to the club meetings with him. The young Italian just couldn't understand that while art was something that he was genuinely passionate about, it wasn't the same for Lovino. In fact, Feliciano's passion and undeniable talent in numerous forms of art only made it harder for the older to keep going to the club meetings with him, since every time he managed to do something he was somewhat satisfied with, he was glaringly outshined by his brother.

Lovino knew he was petty and selfish for not being able to simply be proud of his brother's talent, but he couldn't help the feeling of inferiority that he got each time someone praised his brother's works, which he knew himself were worthy every word of praise. Lovino knew he shouldn't have felt that way, he knew he shouldn't have felt envious of his brother for every word of praise he got from the art teacher and their classmates and least of all their father – he really shouldn't have cared one bit about what _he_ thought of him after all these years – but he simply couldn't help it: He really was just that petty and selfish after all.

When they reached the front of the building and the stone steps leading to the wooden double doors, Feliciano finally broke the silence.

" _Fine_ ", the young Italian grumbled with an exaggerated pout, crossing his arms over his chest as he faced his brother.

Lovino rolled his eyes at the silly expression, trying to ignore the sting of pain he felt as he was reminded of the weeks they'd spent on Grandpa Roma's farm, when Feliciano had been the closest to his usual carefree self that Lovino had seen him in months. His pale skin that got sunburnt immediately if he went out without sunscreen and made the dark circles under his eyes painfully obvious if he didn't wear concealer - which he always did when he left their apartment - made him look vulnerable in a way that only strengthened Lovino's urge to send him back to Italy and keep him away from Gilbert and all the other dirty bastards who had hurt him.

Just as he suppressed the urge to grab his brother by the arm and drag him back to their apartment where he'd be safe, he saw two familiar figures approaching them from the corner of his eye. He felt his muscles tense as he instinctively squared his shoulders, quickly turning his head to the side and hoping that the two guys wouldn't pay attention to them. He was just about to turn his eyes back to his brother to check if he had noticed the guys who were now only a few feet away from them when he felt Feliciano's body press lightly against his side. From the corner of his eye, he caught one of the two guys walking past them throw them a nasty look before disappearing around the corner of the building.

Lovino slowly laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down before giving it a light squeeze. Of course those lousy bastards wouldn't dare to make a scene when the classes had just ended and the schoolyard was buzzing with people, not to mention that Gilbert wasn't even with them.

"Your club meeting is starting soon, you should go in", Lovino said in the most natural voice he could muster, even though the words still came out a little strained.

Feliciano reluctantly detached himself from Lovino's side, his look quickly snapping to the direction where the two guys had disappeared around the corner. After making sure that they were really gone, the young Italian turned back to his brother, brows creased in a look of nervousness and worry that stung at Lovino's heart. He felt another pang of guilt at the thought that it was his fault that his brother looked so vulnerable and afraid even though he was standing right by his side.

If only Lovino were stronger, if only he were even a little better at solving problems without simply creating new ones, Feliciano wouldn't have to look like that. He could look happy and carefree like he was supposed to.

The younger Italian dropped his look down, nodding his head in reply.

Lovino eyed him carefully, brows creased in a small frown. The sky-blue t-shirt that his brother was wearing made his skin look even paler than it actually was, and Lovino wondered if he'd lost more weight again, even though he really couldn't afford it being already skinny to begin with. The older Italian felt a sudden urge to wrap his arms about his brother as if to make sure he wasn't about to disappear into thin air, but instead he settled with placing his hand on his shoulder again and gently pushing him towards the entrance.

"I'll be waiting for you outside", he said, meeting Feliciano's large amber eyes once more before the younger Italian finally turned to walk up the stairs, entering the building through the wooden double doors.

After watching as the doors closed after his brother, Lovino finally turned back to the school yard to find a nice spot where he could spend the next two hours in. However, he only had time to take two steps before his path was blocked by one of the two guys who had walked past him and Feliciano a moment ago.

"What do you want?" He growled, hands clenching into fists by his sides as he glared at the guy standing in front of him with a burnt cigarette in one hand and the other one stuffed into his shorts pocket.

The guy was so close that Lovino had to tilt his head up to look at him, losing to him by at least four inches in height. Judging by the way he was smirking down at him, the fact hadn't gone unnoticed by the guy, which caused the Italian to bite his teeth together in anger.

The guy didn't say anything, instead flicking the burnt cigarette at Lovino with a contemptuous smirk on his face.

Lovino fought off the urge to grab the bastard by the shirt, instead muttering a low "fuck off" while forcing his way past him, bumping into his shoulder on his way. However, the taller guy wasn't ready to leave him alone so easily. Instead, he roughly grabbed his shoulder from behind and shoved him towards the corner of the building where he'd come from.

Lovino staggered a little before regaining his balance, then dropped his messenger bag on the ground and turned back to the bastard who had shoved him. Letting go of the remainders of his self-control, he grabbed the taller guy by the front of his expensive shirt, shoving him back before taking another quick step towards him, flinging a balled fist at his face.

Before his fist could hit him in the chin, the guy grabbed his wrist, taking his turn to swing a punch at the Italian. However, Lovino dodged it by taking a quick step to the side, grabbing the guy by the shoulders and pulling him forward, kneeing him in the stomach before he had the time to react.

Lovino might have been small, but he had quick reflexes and it wasn't the first time he had to use them to avoid getting his ass kicked.

The Italian watched as the guy in front of him stumbled backwards, doubled over in pain.

"I said _fuck off_ ", Lovino growled, fists still clenched by his sides as he wondered whether the guy would come at him again.

"Impressive."

The low, mocking voice coming from behind him caused the Italian to spin around as a cold sense of dread settled in his stomach. He found himself faced with a guy who was as tall as the one he had just kneed in the stomach, but who was clearly more muscular, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight around his bulging shoulders and biceps. But what really made him stand out from most people was his hair, which was almost completely colorless, and his eyes, which were a dark shade of blue that tinted slightly to purple.

A burning surge of anger mixed with the initial sense of dread filled Lovino's whole body as he looked at the guy in front of him - the guy he had punched in the face over two months ago after hearing about what he'd done to Feliciano. Just thinking about it made the Italian want to do it again, punch him in the face so many times that he wouldn't dare to even _look_ at him or, more importantly, his brother.

"What do you want?" he growled again, this time with his eyes fixed at Gilbert, giving him his deadliest glare.

"You think you can talk to me like that?" the platinum-haired guy asked, his mocking voice bearing a dangerous undertone as he raised a nearly transparent eyebrow at the Italian. "I'll make you learn your place, you lousy piece of shit", he sneered, voice even lower and more intimidating as he towered above Lovino.

Lovino knew that if Gilbert wanted to beat his ass, there was nothing the Italian could do to avoid it. He was outnumbered three to one, with the guy he'd kneed in the stomach still somewhere behind him and the other guy who'd been with him earlier standing behind Gilbert. Even if Lovino had somehow managed to run away, it would have only been a matter of time when they confronted him again or even went after Feliciano, which was something the Italian couldn't allow to happen.

"I'm not scared of you", Lovino hissed, his upper lip lifting up in a sneer as he kept his eyes fixed at the taller guy, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists by his sides.

_At least Feliciano isn't here to see me get my ass beaten like the pathetic loser I am._

Just as that thought had crossed his mind, Gilbert's left hand reached out to grab a large patch of his shirt while his left fist swung towards his face with dangerous speed. However, the Italian's quick reflexes saved him again, allowing him to direct the punch harmlessly to the side with his left forearm. He used the opening to bring his left fist back to hit Gilbert with a hook to the cheek, but the taller guy only narrowed his eyes before returning the punch, hitting Lovino square in the chin. As he staggered back, the Italian could taste the blood flowing into his mouth from his lip, which had been cut by one of Gilbert's knuckles.

Before he had time to lunge at the platinum-haired guy again, he felt something hard slam into the back of his knees, causing his knees to meet the hard concrete. A kick to his side made him fall on his back, but he quickly rolled over and pushed himself off the ground, finding himself faced with the same guy he'd kneed in the stomach earlier. He dodged the punch he swung at him with his left fist, only to realize too late that it had been a feint. The guy's right fist collided with Lovino's cheekbone, but he ignored the pain and the black dots dancing before his eyes, lunging forward to hit the guy with an uppercut to the chin.

A force pulling him backwards by the hood separated the Italian from his opponent, causing him to instinctively swing his elbow back to where the attacker's face should have been. However, his hit was block by a firm forearm, and a second later a strong kick landed on his back, causing him to drop onto his knees again while the air was knocked out of his lungs. Struggling to breathe, Lovino tried to push himself off the ground with his palms, but before he could do that, a foot landed on his back again, pressing him flat against the ground.

"There", a rough, low voice sneered at him from above. "That's your place. Now stay there."

Lovino was still struggling to get air into his burning lungs, the foot pressing him against the ground not helping him at all. He spat out some of the blood that was flowing into his mouth from the cut on his lip, grimacing at the metallic taste. He felt slightly lightheaded, but he wasn't sure whether it was mainly from the lack of oxygen or the punches he had taken to his face. The only somewhat clear thought in his mind was that he needed to get up somehow, but he was out of ideas on how to do that with Gilbert's foot on his back and his limbs feeling heavy and unresponsive.

_At least Feliciano isn't here to see this._

_At least Feliciano isn't the one getting hurt._

The foot was finally removed from his back, and Lovino desperately gasped for air while pressing his palms against the ground in a weak attempt to get up. However, seconds later the same foot kicked him forcefully in the ribs, making him slam into the hard concrete shoulder-first. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped his mouth at the eye-watering pain he felt in his side as he curled up on the ground, bracing himself for another kick.

"Pathetic", Gilbert's voice spat at him from above, piercing Lovino's hazy consciousness and sending a weak surge of anger through his aching body.

However, the anger was quickly drowned out by the hard kick to his already sore ribs, which caused the Italian to let out a muffled yelp of pain. The pain seemed to radiate from his side and his back to his whole upper body, making him wince slightly at every breath he took. His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, making the nasty chuckles that the guys standing above him left out sound like they were coming from somewhere far away. That could have also been because of the way his consciousness seemed to be slipping off as black spots danced before his eyes, refusing to disappear no matter how many times he blinked.

And then, after giving a final nudge to the Italian's aching ribs, Lovino could distantly make out the sound of the pair of feet leaving his side. Not daring to let himself relax too soon, he waited for a while longer, lying down on the hard concrete and listening to the sound of his shallow breaths and the blood rushing in his ears. When he was sure that he really was alone, Lovino slowly placed his palms on the ground, wincing at the way the movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through his ribs and his back. His head still felt a little fuzzy, but he forced himself to slowly lift his aching body off the ground, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds once he was standing on his feet to get rid of the last of the black spots.

Clutching his arms around his sore body, the Italian carefully walked to where he'd dropped his bag, stopping to pick it off the ground and to pull his hood over his head before heading back to the school yard. He made his way to his favorite spot: a small stone fountain in the shade of a tree with long, dangly branches. He let his body slump down on the ledge, leaning his elbows on his knees and closing his eyes. After a while of sitting still and focusing on keeping his breathing shallow enough, the Italian could feel the pain from his injuries slowly subside into a dull ache. The observation left him with the conclusion that he had been lucky enough to avoid any serious damage like broken ribs, but the thought merely passed through his mind without evoking any significant reaction. All he could think of was how utterly tired he felt, too tired to even care about getting insulted and beaten up, too tired to care about what could have happened to him if he had been less lucky. 

It was his own fault after all: It was his own fault that he was too weak to defend himself, it was his own fault that he had punched Gilbert in the face two months ago as if that would solve anything instead of only making things worse. At least Gilbert had come for him and not Feliciano – that was all Lovino could really care about at the moment.

The thought of his brother suddenly caused a wave of panic to wash over the Italian. He brought his right hand to carefully touch his damaged lip, a heavy weight settling in his stomach at how swollen it felt. He had no doubts that even if he washed every bit of blood off his chin, the damage on his lip would still be painfully obvious, not to speak of the bruise that must have been forming on his cheekbone. Even if Feliciano hadn't been there to see him get beaten up, his face would instantly give away what had happened.

Thinking back to the last time when Feliciano had seen him with a bruised face, Lovino leaned his elbows heavily against his knees, letting his hands dangle limply in front of him. Feliciano would probably break down in tears the moment he saw him, the Italian thought as he stared at his hands with unfocused eyes. His initial panic was slowly being replaced by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness that filled his chest with a different kind of an ache than getting repeatedly kicked by Gilbert: It was that all too familiar feeling of having everything he was trying so hard to balance on his shoulders collapse on top of him, burying him under a pile of rubble and leaving him with no other choice but to try to dig his way out again.

And he was _so_ _damn tired_ of doing that over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was honestly quite painful to write, but I felt like showing what Lovino is going through in more detail was important for his character and the story in general. Please tell me your thoughts on the chapter in the comments and look forward to another update next weekend! (Spoiler alert: There will finally be interaction between Lovino and Antonio!)


	5. Because I Want To

After staying behind to talk with his homeroom teacher after his classes had ended, Antonio decided to head to the school library to borrow the book he needed for his English course.

The building where the library was located was three floors high and made of red tile, much like the main building, with large grid windows and wooden double-doors facing the yard. A tall palm tree stood on both sides of the façade, while smaller trees flanked the pathway leading through the yard, which was covered in neatly cut grass, speckled with wooden benches, flower beds and several fountains and bronze statues. There weren't many people around anymore, as most students were either doing club activities or had already headed home.

As Antonio walked along the paved pathway, his eyes caught a familiar figure sitting on the stone ledge of one of the fountains. He was quite easy to spot due to the red pullover that made him stand out from everyone else, and Antonio found himself slowing his pace as he approached the fountain. Only once he'd come to a halt before walking past the boy, Antonio realized what it was about the boy that had caught his attention enough to make him stop in the middle of his walk to the school library.

The boy in the red pullover – his name was Lovino, as Antonio remembered from homeroom class – sat hunched over his knees and with his head hung low, face once again hidden by his hood. His posture was slumped and somehow lifeless, and even as Antonio carefully made his way to the fountain, he didn't move a muscle or otherwise show any signs of noticing the Spaniard's presence. The sense of apprehension that Antonio had been feeling since the moment he'd seen his classmate sitting there increased alarmingly as he came to a halt only a few feet in front of the other boy, who still hadn't acknowledged his presence in any way.

"Lovino?" He asked in a soft, careful voice.

It was the first time he had ever talked to the boy, whom he hadn't seen exchanging words with almost anyone during the two days they'd been classmates. However, even though he knew that whatever was bothering the boy was technically none of his business, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was badly wrong – he had got the impression that the other was always somehow on edge, keeping careful notice of his surroundings, and that didn't fit his current lifeless posture at all.

"Go away, bastard."

The answer was crude and short and completely against what Antonio had been taught was an appropriate manner of addressing people. However, instead of feeling like he'd been offended by the other boy's words, which would have probably been his natural response in most situations, Antonio's attention was more focused on the way the boy had visibly tensed as he'd heard him say his name and the way his reply had come out in an oddly strained and thick voice.

The Spaniard's eyebrows creased in concern as he contemplated for a moment about what he should do. He couldn't just continue his way to the school library now that he had confirmed that there was indeed something wrong with his classmate. He thought back to the previous day and how he'd seen the platinum-haired guy – Gilbert – bump into Lovino, and how he'd had such a troubled expression on his face each time the Spaniard had seen him without his hood on. Antonio knew perfectly well that it was none of his business and that the last thing he should do was get involved in whatever was going on between Lovino and the troublesome-looking guys, but it wouldn't do him harm if he just quickly made sure the other boy was okay, now would it?

Instead of complying with Lovino's request and going away, Antonio took another step towards him, slowly reaching out his hand to place it on the other's shoulder. Even through the thick pullover, he could feel the way Lovino's muscles tensed under his touch, and he briefly noted that they felt surprisingly firm even though he hadn't taken him for a particularly athletic guy before.

"Are you okay?" He asked in the same soft voice, even though he knew it was a stupid question to ask – after all, it was clear to him by now that the other was not okay.

Lovino didn't answer, but after a moment of silence, during which Antonio kept his hand lightly resting on his shoulder, the Spaniard could feel his muscles start to relax. The boy's slumped posture seemed to sink even further as he leaned his elbows on his knees and hung his head low.

"You're not leaving me alone, are you, bastard?" he muttered after letting out a short sight, finally lifting up his head to face Antonio. The movement caused his hood to slip off, allowing the Spaniard to properly see his face.

Antonio's eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight in front of him: There was a fresh bruise below Lovino's right eye and his lip was swollen and bleeding, – hopefully just the lip – the blood forming a smudged trail from the corner of his mouth all the way down his chin.

The shock on Antonio's face probably didn't go unnoticed by Lovino, who quickly avoided his eyes. After getting over the initial shock of seeing the other's injuries, Antonio noted that the usual grumpy expression was missing from his face. Instead, his face was mostly expressionless, apart from the forlorn, pained look in his glazed eyes, which were fixed at the grass before his feet. Antonio felt his heart wring painfully in his chest, and he found himself reaching out his hand, which had previously fallen back to his side, towards the other boy's face in an attempt to…

What? To touch his injuries to make sure he wasn't imagining them? To wipe the blood off his face?

Antonio wasn't sure, but he suddenly felt a strong need to do something to help the other boy, even though it became more and more obvious that he was involved in something that Antonio was supposed to stay away from at all costs. From up close, the Spaniard noticed how delicate Lovino's features were, and how tan his skin was regardless of the fact that he had been wearing the hood over his head most of the time at school. His auburn hair almost reached his eyes, sticking out messily after being under the hood but still looking like it would feel very soft to touch.

Antonio's hand instinctively reached out to touch the top of Lovino's head, but before he could touch him, the auburn-haired boy shrunk back on the stone ledge, his elbows slipping off his knees and shoulders tensing, reminding the Spaniard of a wounded wild animal getting ready to run away. Antonio slowly withdrew his hand, but kept his eyes fixed at the boy in front of him, the worried frown deepening on his face.

"Lovino…" he repeated carefully. "What happened?"

"Well, what do you think?" Lovino's reply came quicker than Antonio had expected, his tone harsh yet strangely brittle, as if his voice was on the verge of breaking. He gave Antonio a quick glance, eyes dark with a variety of emotions, out of which Antonio could recognize at least anger, bitterness and fear.

Taking a deep breath, Antonio reached out with his hand again, slowly as if he was about to touch a startled animal. He managed to land it on Lovino's shoulder without the boy inching away or shaking it off, which worked as encouragement for the Spaniard. He barely knew the other boy, but he couldn't help it that seeing the injuries on his face and the dark, pained look in his eyes made his heart wring painfully, filling him with a startlingly strong resolve to help him.

"We should get your face cleaned up", he said, his eyes still fixed at Lovino's battered face, which was turned slightly to the side to avoid meeting his eyes. "You didn't hurt your teeth, did you?" he continued to ask, eyeing the boy's bloodied mouth with his brows creased in a concerned frown.

Lovino slowly lifted up his look at his words, and Antonio didn't quite know how to interpret the look on his face.

Wary? Perplexed? Surprised?

Maybe it was a combination of all those emotions, as well as others that Antonio wasn't able to name.

"No", the Italian finally muttered, "it's just a split lip."

As if to show Antonio that it wasn't a big deal, he brought his hand to his face and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Antonio drew in a relieved breath, then gave Lovino's shoulder a light squeeze. "Come on. We should still get it cleaned up properly."

Antonio's house was located barely a quarter of a mile from school, which was why it felt natural to suggest taking Lovino there. However, when the auburn-haired boy actually complied with barely any arguing, the Spaniard couldn't help the genuinely happy smile that replaced his concerned frown for a while. It was quick to disappear though, as the frown was brought back by the way Lovino kept his left arm wrapped around his chest after standing up from the stone ledge, walking in an oddly careful manner even as he claimed to be "fine".

Antonio made sure to walk slowly, eyeing the boy walking beside him worriedly the whole time it took for them to reach his house. It was only when they finally stood on the porch that Antonio could see Lovino eye the door hesitantly, as if he regretted letting the Spaniard lead him there. However, having come this far and feeling that strange determination to do something to help the auburn-haired boy, Antonio didn't give him the chance to change his mind, opening the door quickly with his key and ushering the boy inside.

"Sorry about the mess", he said while Lovino eyed the entrance hall around them. "We just moved in last week and I didn't do much about downstairs yet."

He gave the auburn-haired boy an apologetic smile, only getting a small frown in return as the boy continued to examine the embarrassingly empty space around him.

"Let's go upstairs", the Spaniard said quickly, only stopping to kick off his shoes before leading Lovino up the staircase all the way to the third floor, where he had thankfully unpacked most of his things already.

It was only when Antonio led Lovino to his room and told him to wait on the sofa while he went to get first aid supplies from the bathroom that he realized that he didn't remember the last time when he had invited someone over to his place. It wasn't because he didn't get along with people - in fact, he usually had quite a lot of people that he hung out with at school - but he was never really close enough with any of them to feel like asking them to come over. He supposed that it was one of the downsides of moving from one place to another several times a year and not having time to keep in touch with people. However, now a boy whom he'd met for the first time only on the day before was sitting on his bedroom sofa while the Spaniard was looking for supplies to tend to his injuries.

Antonio felt a little amazed at himself for not stopping to hesitate for a moment before deciding to take the auburn-haired boy to his place. He supposed that his parents wouldn't have had anything against him inviting a friend over, but he was quite sure they wouldn't have approved of him taking someone who obviously looked like he'd just been in a fight to his room. Antonio rarely did anything that his parents disapproved of, but now the anxiety he felt for doing so was nearly completely overweighed by his determination to tend to Lovino's injuries.

When he returned from the bathroom with a first aid kit, he found auburn-haired boy looking around the room from his spot on the sofa, his expression for once neither grumpy nor desolate but instead calm and even mildly curious. The change made Antonio's eyes linger on the boy for a while longer as he stood just outside the door, wondering briefly what Lovino thought of his room, which he had managed to get into a presentable state no later than on the day before. Then he stepped in through the doorway, causing the auburn-haired boy to quickly turn his attention from the ceiling window above his bed to the Spaniard himself.

Antonio took a seat on the sofa next to Lovino and started cleaning the cut on his swollen lip with a cotton pad soaked with disinfectant. Even though the disinfectant must have stung the damaged lip, the auburn-haired boy showed no signs of feeling any pain, remaining completely still with his head turned slightly to the side and eyes fixed at a spot a few inches right from Antonio's face. The glazed, unfocused look in his eyes caused the Spaniard's chest to ache painfully even as he tried to stay focused on what he was doing.

When the Spaniard was done cleaning the remaining blood from Lovino's face, he gently brushed his finger over the purple bruise on his cheekbone, careful not to put enough pressure on it to hurt the other boy. His skin felt soft and warm under his touch, and Antonio felt a little mesmerized looking at someone like that, close enough to count his eyelashes and notice how the color of his irises gradually changed from the darker brown around his pupils to the color of molten amber. Lovino's eyes were truly beautiful, the Spaniard thought to himself before his look fell back to the bruise on his cheekbone.

"Who did this?" he asked quietly as he retreated his hand from the auburn-haired boy's face.

Lovino turned his head more to the side, avoiding Antonio's look. A few strands of auburn hair shielded his face from the Spaniard's eyes, preventing him from seeing what kind of a reaction his words had evoked in the other boy.

"Was it Gilbert?"

Antonio's voice was still quiet, but he was a little surprised by the harsh edge in his tone. The platinum-haired guy's malicious face floated into his mind, making him feel an unusually strong surge of anger that only strengthened when he saw how Lovino visibly tensed at the mention of the name.

"It's none of your business", the auburn-haired boy muttered after a moment of silence, fiddling with his hands which were resting on his lap.

Lovino was right: it was none of Antonio's business.

Or at least it shouldn't have been, but when the Spaniard thought of the smirk he'd seen on Gilbert's face after he'd purposefully bumped into Lovino in the hallway, he couldn't help it that he felt a strong urge to wipe it off his face and make sure he'd never hurt the auburn-haired boy again. But of course he couldn't do that. Of course he knew that no matter how much he hated the idea of doing nothing and letting the boy sitting next to him with a bruised cheek and split lip get hurt again, he couldn't risk his reputation by doing something reckless.

"Why are you even doing this?"

Antonio blinked his eyes, his frustrated thoughts interrupted by Lovino's quiet voice. The auburn-haired boy was looking at him from under his overgrown bangs, brows creased slightly in that confused frown that stung at the Spaniard's heart for a reason he couldn't quite explain.

Why did Antonio feel so guilty at the thought that all he could do to help the auburn-haired boy was patch up his injuries, even though he barely knew him? It had to be the way he'd been sitting on the ledge of the fountain so lifelessly and the indifference with which he regarded his injuries that unnerved the Spaniard too much for him to simply ignore it. Even on the day before, he had got the feeling that there was something troubling Lovino based on his grumpy expression and the way he had always sat at the back of the class with his hood on. The ironic thing was that usually he decided to stay away from anyone who looked like they were involved in some sort of trouble, but now Antonio was doing the exact opposite.

The Spaniard knew that patching up the other's injuries wouldn't do anything to solve whatever trouble he was in with Gilbert, but it was the only thing he _could_ do to help him.

"Because I want to", he said truthfully.

He watched as Lovino's eyes widened in obvious surprise at his words before the frown quickly returned to his face, this time deeper than before. His look fell to his hands, which he was still fidgeting on his lap, shoulders drawn in in a defensive manner.

"Whatever", he muttered, letting out a defeated sigh, only to wince slightly while bringing his right arm around his chest.

Antonio's eyes shifted from the grimace on Lovino's face to his chest area, his brows once again creasing in concern. Thinking back to the way the auburn-haired boy had walked in a careful manner while clutching his chest, the Spaniard wondered if he was hiding worse injuries than the ones on his face under his pullover.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked carefully, keeping his eyes intently fixed at the boy next to him.

The auburn-haired boy drew his shoulders even further in, his hands closing around the hem of his pullover as if he feared Antonio might try to forcibly remove it. The Spaniard felt a little hurt at the thought, as he would have never been inconsiderate enough to do something like that.

"Do you think you should see a doctor?" he inquired, still eyeing the other boy worriedly.

If Lovino managed to seem unbothered by the injuries on his face, Antonio didn't want to imagine how badly hurt he must have been to show visible signs of pain. The though filled him with a cold sense of dread, making him want to take the boy to a hospital without wasting another minute.

However, the auburn-haired boy quickly shook his head at his words, eyes widened in what Antonio could only describe as fear as he finally met the Spaniard's look.

"I'm fine", he said to back up his point before letting his look drop back to his hands.

Antonio was still left unconvinced, as the boy's actions clearly didn't fit his claim of being "fine". However, after a moment of silence during which he wondered what he could do to convince Lovino to get himself checked up to make sure his injuries weren't anything too serious, the auburn-haired boy sighed again, this time decidedly shallowly.

"It's not like my ribs are broken or anything. So stop staring already", he muttered, head still bent down and auburn bangs hiding most of his face from Antonio's eyes.

Antonio couldn't help it that his worried frown only deepened at the comment, but he decided to take Lovino's word for it, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable than he already was. However, it was only after he had seen the other boy off to the front door and headed back to his room alone that he realized what it was about the remark and the tone the boy had used to make it that had bothered him so much:

Lovino seemed to have implied that he _knew_ what it felt like to have broken ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave me a comment and tell me your thoughts on it or the whole story so far! :)


	6. I Don't Understand

On Friday, Lovino had put all his efforts into making Feliciano's favorite pasta sauce for dinner, desperately hoping that his brother would eat properly for once.

It hadn't worked.

Lovino had had to watch as his brother played around with his fork, rolling the spaghetti around it only to let it unravel again, eyes unfocused as he stared at his plate without any distinct emotion on his face. That was how it had been every day during the past week: it was as if any traces of Feliciano's cheerful smile disappeared the moment they got home from school, as if he only had enough energy to keep up the act when he was around other people.

Because that was all that it was: an act.

There had been a day when his cheerful smiles had been genuine, but nowadays smiles like that were rare on the younger Italian's face. It was as if he wasn't only becoming physically skinnier, but as if his spirit - the thing that made him _Feliciano_ \- was also slowly fading out of existence. And that was what scared Lovino _so fucking much_ : The idea that Feliciano was becoming an empty shell, only a shadow of the person Lovino had used to know when they were younger, that he would end up losing his brother even if he was still physically there.

It was hardly the first time that Feliciano was starving himself, that he had that scarily empty look in his eyes that sent a chilling wave of coldness through Lovino's body. It had been the same each time the younger Italian had got his heart broken by some dirty asshole that shouldn't have deserved to even look at him in the first place. It was always the same thing, and still Feliciano had never listened to his brother's warnings, he had never been willing to stay away from those bastards until they stomped on the heart that he served them on a golden plate.

Lovino wanted to strangle every single one of those disgusting bastards, he wanted to make them regret that they ever dared to go near his brother, even if he knew that it wouldn't really help Feliciano in any way.

_No, Feliciano doesn't wish for anyone to get hurt, no matter how fucking badly they hurt him._

_That's what I don't fucking understand._

The only thing Lovino understood was that Feliciano was breaking apart on the inside, and he had no idea how to fix him.

The Italian thought of the empty, unfocused look in his brother large amber eyes, feeling his chest tighten painfully at the image. He felt small and useless, he felt like no matter how hard he tried to get stronger, he was still a pathetic excuse of an older brother, always watching Feliciano get hurt without being able to do anything about it.

He still felt like the little kid watching as his brother was grabbed by the hair and hurled around, he remembered the burning anger filling his veins, the burning anger at his mother and the sickening feeling of loath at himself for not able to do anything but stare as tears streamed uselessly down his cheeks. He remembered how Feliciano's head had hit the corner of the kitchen table and how his small body had gone limp, slumping to the tiled floor and remaining still while a paralyzing sense of dread had filled Lovino, a paralyzing sense of dread that he could still remember vividly.

Lovino pinched the skin under his left forearm to get the memory off his mind before the tightness in his chest became suffocating. At least it was Friday now, which meant that they wouldn't have to go to school for two days. He had somehow survived the rest of the week without any more encounters with Gilbert or the guys following him around, as if they'd decided that beating him up once a week was enough to keep him on his toes. He hated to admit that it was true, that he felt like a hunted animal whenever he entered through the school gates with his brother, waiting to be ambushed at any minute and desperately hoping that he would be alone at that time and that they wouldn't go near Feliciano when he went to his own classes.

However, while Gilbert and the two guys who had confronted Lovino with him last time had settled with giving him nasty smirks whenever they passed him in the hallways, the new guy who had taken Lovino to his place after he'd got punched and kicked around had tried to approach him twice, only for the Italian to quickly come up with an excuse to run off. He couldn't help it that he felt unnerved by people whose motives he couldn't understand, and the new guy – Antonio – was a perfect example of someone whose actions Lovino couldn't explain with any sort of logic.

His first impression of the guy when he'd introduced himself on the first day of school had been the typical self-important rich kid who was immediately trying to win everyone over with his impossibly bright smile and overflowing friendliness. However, no matter how much he tried, Lovino couldn't get the way Antonio had treated him after he'd got his ass beaten by Gilbert to fit that impression. The guy had gone way beyond faked friendliness, after all, staring at the Italian with that inexplicable look of concern and insisting to take him to his place to clean up his battered face. That required way too much effort for someone who was just trying to play the casual nice guy, and it wouldn't have made any sense for him to try to befriend Lovino out of all people in the first place.

Lovino rolled onto his back, staring at the partly peeled off paint on the ceiling of the room while picturing Antonio's face in front of him: tan, perfect skin that was even darker than Lovino's, straight nose, defined jawline and messy brown hair framing his features. He looked like the kind of guy that Feliciano would crush on and who would later break his heart, too full of himself to give a shit about other people's feeling, only using them for his own amusement. His handsome face would have easily fit the typical high school fuckboy, but that was where it stopped making sense: Lovino recalled a picture of Antonio reaching out with his hand to touch his face, his neatly trimmed eyebrows creased into a small frown and bright, emerald eyes filled with undeniable concern as he examined the Italian's injuries.

Why? Why would he look at Lovino like that, or decide to come talk to him in the first place when he'd sat in his favorite spot where nobody usually bothered him?

The Italian could feel his head start to ache as he tried to figure out the new guy and his motives but remained unable to come up with anything plausible. What was even worse was that he couldn't really come up with a sensible explanation for his own actions either: Why had he agreed to go to Antonio's fancy ass house when he had no idea of why he seemed so concerned about him, a practical stranger who was obviously involved with people whom someone like Antonio shouldn't have wanted to mess with?

He hadn't even had any certainty of the other guy's intentions – fuck, if he'd wanted to, he could have probably done anything to Lovino after getting him to his house considering the state the Italian had been in: He hadn't only been physically injured, but the hopelessness and utter _tiredness_ he'd felt towards the mess that was his life had made him scarily indifferent towards Antonio's intentions, too indifferent to resist for long even though he hadn't understood a thing of what was going on.

He still didn't.

He still didn't _fucking understand,_ and the frustration he felt for that was strong enough to make his head physically hurt. Lovino wished he could've just closed his eyes and fallen asleep without having to wake up for a few weeks or maybe a month or maybe before Christmas break. He wished he could've just got away from everything that made his life such a mess, and even then he knew it wouldn't have fixed everything.

Even without Gilbert, there would have always been another asshole who would have hurt his brother, another asshole who would have made Lovino lose his cool and punch him in the face and things wouldn't have been any different from how they were now. Shit, even if Lovino had had more control over himself, Feliciano would have still got hurt one way or the other. Feliciano always got hurt, and there didn't seem to be anything Lovino could do to stop it from happening. Why did his brother have to be so sweet and naïve, why did he have to attract all the assholes and why couldn't he realize that he deserved so much better?

Yeah, it wouldn't have helped even if Lovino could have fallen sleep and woken up in time for the Christmas break. He would have had to sleep until forever if he wanted to avoid dealing with the mess that was his life, and if he did, who would have been there to pile food onto his brother's plate and desperately try to make him eat something so that he wouldn't keep getting skinnier and skinnier until one day he simply disappeared?

Lovino had to be strong, strong enough to handle all the shit that life threw at him and his brother.

But no matter how hard he tried, he felt like he was fighting a battle that had been lost before he had even realized it had started. It had been lost since the day when he had stood paralyzed, watching his brother lie still on the kitchen floor, all the anger he'd felt a moment ago leaving his body, replaced by that paralyzing fear while the guilt and self-loathing remained: Fear that his brother wouldn't get up from the floor and guilt and self-loathing for being too weak to help him before his head collided with the table.

Even after eight years, he felt just as small and weak as on that day, no matter how hard he'd tried to get stronger, no matter how many times he'd promised himself not to let his brother get hurt again.

Lovino let out a long breath of air, trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest. Almost as soon as the partly peeled off white paint of the ceiling was replaced by darkness broken only by a few lingering dots of light, the Italian remembered the touch of gentle fingers on his left cheekbone, so light that it tickled his skin slightly, almost sending shivers down his spine.

Since the day when Antonio had insisted on tending to the injuries on his face, Lovino had been unable to forget the feeling of his warm fingers brushing against his bruised skin. The memory kept lingering at the back of his mind, waiting for its chance to overwhelm him the moment he let his defenses down, making his breath hitch in his throat as he desperately tried to push it back to where it had come from.

Even though he knew it would come back during the long hours of the night, when not only his mind but also his body turned against him to show him how pathetic he truly was, unable to even breathe properly or stop his body from trembling. That's when it would come back, reminding him of how vulnerable he'd felt then, sitting on Antonio's sofa while the other's fingers carefully wiped the blood off his face and gently brushed over the bruise on his left cheekbone. _Vulnerable_ was the only word he could come up with to describe the feeling, even though it was a different kind of vulnerability from what he'd felt when he'd been curled up on the pavement, bracing himself for another kick to his already aching ribs.

Antonio's gentle touch had made him feel vulnerable, perhaps even more vulnerable than being kicked around by Gilbert, and that terrified the Italian enough to make him practically run away when the brunet had tried to approach him.

Why?

Because he could always try his best to fight back when Gilbert or others of his kind tried to beat his ass, but the vulnerability Antonio had made him feel was much harder to resist: It was something that Lovino hadn't even _tried to_ resist, simply letting the other guy lead him to his fancy house, sit him down on his sofa and wipe the blood off his face before proceeding to ask him a load of questions about things that shouldn't have been any of his business.

Why? Why had Antonio done that?

Lovino had asked him that very question when he'd been sitting next to him on his sofa, but the answer he'd received had done little to make the other's actions more understandable.

_"Because I want to."_

The sincerity in the other boy's voice and those dazzling emerald eyes of his had been enough to cause Lovino's chest to swell with a strange feeling that he still couldn't quite name but that returned each time he thought of the way Antonio's fingers had felt on his skin. If there was one thing that the Italian did understand, it was that that feeling was extremely dangerous for the resolve he needed to keep himself from crumbling under the crushing weight that he kept piling up on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please tell me your thoughts on it in the comments - any feedback is greatly appreciated! :)


	7. Smile

Feliciano placed the tube of concealer next to the sink before turning his eyes back to the mirror.

The large, almond-shaped eyes staring back at him were the color of molten amber, framed by long eyelashes of the same color, only a shade darker. His nose was pointy, cheekbones high and his cheeks, which had used to be rounder before, were now almost hollow. His chapped lips stood out from his unhealthily white skin, the upper one being notably thinner than the bottom one, with a deep cupid's bow. His amber hair hung lifelessly around his face, lacking the shininess it had once possessed even though he used conditioner every time he washed it.

He looked disgusting.

He knew there was no way anyone would love someone as worthless and disgusting as him, and yet he still desperately tried to make himself look presentable, unable to bear the idea of the people at school seeing how undesirable he really was.

The young Italian traced his finger over the skin under his right eye, his eyes still fixed at his mirror image. The concealer was successful in hiding the dark circles, but it didn't do anything to the puffiness caused by lack of sleep and crying into his pillow at night.

What was wrong with him?

Why did he have to be so disgusting and pathetic that it was no wonder why nobody stayed around him for long?

The wide eyes staring back at him in the mirror reminded Feliciano of a deer caught in the headlights of a car, scared and unable to do anything to save himself from the horrible fate that was waiting for him.

That was how it always seemed to be for him. He hadn't been able to do anything to stop his father from leaving him and Lovino alone with their mother when they'd been young. He hadn't been able to do anything but freeze in fear when his mother had yelled at him and grabbed him by the hair, and it had only been when he'd ended up in the hospital that his grandpa had taken him and his brother to live with him on the farm. Now he was in Florida with his brother, going to a school his father had wanted the two of them to enroll in and dreading the thought of leaving their small apartment every morning.

The only person who had stayed around was his brother, but that was just because he didn't have a choice: He was stuck with Feliciano, no matter how much of a burden he was.

The young Italian finally let his look drop down to the sink as he thought of the mess he had got his brother into. If only he wouldn't have said anything to Lovino, maybe Gilbert would have just let it drop and the whole thing wouldn't have escalated into the mess that it was now.

_No… Gilbert isn't the kind of guy who leaves you alone after you turn him down, you know that perfectly well, Feli._

Feliciano placed his hand on the cool, smooth surface of the bathroom sink, thankful to have something solid to hold onto. Lately he had started to feel a little unsteady if he stayed on his feet for too long at a time, which was probably a consequence of not eating enough. Also, he couldn't help it that even the thought of Gilbert filled him with a cold sense of dread that made him want to lock himself in the bathroom so that he wouldn't have to go to school, even if that made him feel even more like a pathetic coward.

If he hadn't resisted in the first place and just let Gilbert do as he pleased with him, he wouldn't have now had to fear for his brother's sake every day they went to school. The only person who had been there for him his whole life, looking out for him because he was too weak to defend himself, was getting hurt because he had turned down the most dangerous guy at school. Had he really thought he deserved anything better, that he deserved someone who truly cared about him, someone who wouldn't just use him as he pleased before throwing him away?

He should have realized by now that he was stupid and naïve for ever seriously believing that. All the guys he had went out with had got tired of him after a while, when he'd denied them the only thing they seemed to be after. He should have just let go of his naïve ideals and given Gilbert the only thing he had to offer, but instead he had been too terrified to think about the consequences of his actions.

It had been just before the summer break, and the trip to Italy to Grandpa Roma's farm had almost made Feliciano forget about those consequences for two months. The farm where he had lived for nearly eight years was the only place where he had ever felt truly safe and at home, and the summer had felt like a soothing dream that he had had to wake up from when he'd returned to their dark and empty apartment a few days before school had started. That night, he had fallen asleep quickly simply because of the sleepless night he'd spent on the plane due to his persisting fear of flying, but that had been the last night he'd slept well since they'd returned to Florida.

The thought of seeing Gilbert again had terrified him enough to not only make him struggle to fall asleep at night, but also to keep him from eating anything without getting the urge to throw up. It had taken all his willpower just to keep himself together in front of his brother, only to crumble into pieces whenever he was alone in his room. He knew Lovino was worried about him, and just seeing the pained look on his face when he could barely take a few bites of the meal he had prepared for him made him feel like bursting into tears – tears that he had willed himself to save for when he was alone.

The least Feliciano could do for his brother was to keep him from having to see his most distasteful state when he was already suffering enough because of him as it was.

The young Italian slowly lifted up his look again, facing the mirror with his brows scrunched in a small frown. He could still remember vividly what his brother's face had looked like on the previous Tuesday, when he'd seen him after his art club meeting: the dark bruise forming on his left cheekbone and the way his lip had been visibly damaged and swollen as he'd avoided meeting Feliciano's eyes, shifting his look between the ground and the empty space around the younger Italian's head. Looking at his reflection, he imagined what those injuries would have looked like on his face, which was like a sickly and pale version of his brother.

_You're the one who deserves to get hurt, Feliciano, not your brother,_ a low voice whispered in the Italian's mind as he traced his index finger over the undamaged skin on his left cheekbone.

_Don't you feel ashamed of always covering behind your brother, letting him fight your battles and get hurt just to protect you?_

Feliciano's lips trembled as he moved his finger to touch the same spot where his brother's lower lip had been split.

_He deserves so much better._

_You don't deserve someone like him._

The young Italian blinked his eyes, which were burning again regardless of all the tears he'd shed last night. He knew he couldn't start crying now, not when he was supposed to get out from the bathroom and go to school in few minutes and the tears would ruin his concealer and make his eyes red. He took a shaky breath, silently begging for the voice in his head to leave him alone for the day, even though he knew that it would come back to torment him again in the dark hours of the night, when he was alone in his room.

The previous night had been the worse since Tuesday. He had laid down in his bed for what had felt like hours, thinking about fact that he would have to go to school again in the morning after the weekend and spend the whole day fearing that Gilbert and his friends would go after Lovino again. There was no knowing how far Gilbert could go when he wanted to hurt someone, and the images of what could happen to his brother kept haunting Feliciano every time he closed his eyes. The disgust he felt at himself for being the reason why his brother was in danger had been enough to make him feel like throwing up, making him unable to fall asleep regardless of how exhausted he'd been.

In the end, he'd given up trying to sleep and instead started working on the design for the oil painting he was planning to make in art club. Art had always been Feliciano's way of expressing those emotions that he would otherwise keep hidden deep inside of him, the emotions that had lately grown stronger and threatened to overwhelm him. Those emotions were too ugly to be expressed directly, but expressing them subtly through art enabled him to turn them into something more appealing and even beautiful. They would no longer be something ugly that he tried to hide from people the same way he hid the dark circles under his eyes, but they would become art; something that existed outside of Feliciano's mind, something that was abstract and open to different interpretations.

In the end, he had ended up falling asleep on his desk, where he'd woken up in the morning with his back hunched and forehead resting on his left forearm, the pencil he'd been sketching with still in a loose hold in his right hand. His neck and shoulders felt stiff from the weird position he'd slept in, but the design he had come up with was easily worth the discomfort. In fact, the thought that he would be able to start working on his painting in art club on the next day now that he had pretty much finalized the design in his sketchbook was enough to make a small, genuine smile appear on his lips.

However, the smile quickly faded away as his eyes traveled down the mirror until they reached his collarbones, which were peeking out from under the collar of the t-shirt he had bought from Italy. It was too loose on him even though he'd bought the smallest size they'd had in the store, and he had the feeling that it hadn't been so loose when he'd bought it, which he figured wasn't really a surprise considering how little he'd been eating. The white color of the shirt only highlighted the paleness of his skin, and he wondered for a while if he should change into a different shirt. The thought made him sad, since he hadn't worn the shirt even once after buying it at the airport in Rome, and he really liked the design – simple white t-shirt with a purple flower-pattern pocket on the left.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lovino's voice calling him from behind the door.

"Feli, you okay in there? Come eat something for breakfast before we have to leave."

The gentle tone his brother nowadays used when talking to him served as a painful reminder of how much of a burden Feliciano really was. He remembered the times when his brother would have simply yelled at him to get his ass out from the bathroom before there wouldn't be anything left for him to eat. That was how his temperamental and impatient older brother should have behaved, but hearing him speak in such a careful voice reminded the young Italian of the way his face had looked when he'd seen him after his art club meeting on Tuesday and all the worried glanced he'd cast him since then, as if it was _him_ who had been beaten up instead of Lovino.

The last time he had eaten had been a few spoons of the risotto that Lovino had made for dinner on the day before, but he didn't feel at all hungry. In fact, the thought of eating breakfast instantly made some of the nausea from the night before return, but he knew he would have to eat at least something, even if it was more for his brother's sake than his own.

After spending a while longer staring at his mirror image with a frown that he made sure to never wear on his face when he was around people, Feliciano squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, letting a quiet sigh to leave his lips. When he opened his eyes again, there was a cheerful mile on his face, one that made his chapped lips sting a little but looked believable enough despite the paleness of his skin and the puffiness around his eyes.

"I'm coming, _fratello!"_

His light tone of voice fit the cheerful smile perfectly as he finally turned his back to the mirror and left the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like the first chapter from Feliciano's point of view? 
> 
> Thank you for reading my story and please leave me a comment to tell me what you think of it so far!


	8. Shadow

Lovino walked towards the arts building in his brother's trail, observing the way he bounced lightly on each step, eyes fixed at the ornate marble building at the end of the pathway. The genuine excitement in his body language and the way he didn't seem to feel the need to fill the silence with casual conversation was something Lovino had learned to connect to artistic inspiration, the younger Italian's mind clearly focused on the painting he was about to start working on today.

As opposed to his usual talkativeness, Feliciano rarely talked about his designs before implementing them, as if they were something personal that he was only willing to share with others once they had taken their final form. Lovino had learned to respect that, knowing how important art was to his brother. Even though he couldn't fully push away the envy he felt for his brother's superior skills in art, he knew that to Feliciano, art had a very deep and personal meaning that Lovino couldn't fully understand, even after all the years he'd observed his creative processes.

Nevertheless, he could recognize the look on his brother's face, the way his lately so tired and scarily lifeless eyes were lit up with genuine passion and the way his features looked more at ease than they had since they'd returned to Florida after spending the summer on Grandpa Roma's farm. He supposed it was similar to how playing the guitar or listening to music had the power to make the heavy weight on Lovino's shoulders more bearable, even if just momentarily.

The positive change in his brother's behavior had eased the permanent knot in Lovino's stomach, making him able to enjoy little things that he normally would've hardly payed any attention to, such as the light breeze that caressed his face and made the hot weather less suffocating than usual. He had removed his hood from his head, letting the refreshing breeze blow the auburn hair off his face before returning some of the strands back to his forehead, where they lazily danced in front of his eyes. Even though his mind was less occupied by constant dread and worry, the Italian hadn't completely thrown off his guard, maintaining his usual alertness as he kept his eyes open for Gilbert and the guys that usually followed him around.

They had almost made it to the stairs leading to the entrance of the arts building when the same two guys that had been with Gilbert a week ago emerged from behind the corner, making all the muscles in Lovino's body tense as his earlier good mood turned into a cold sense of dread.

The more muscular but slightly shorter one of the two approached them first, a nasty smirk plastered on his face as he used his superior height to look down on Lovino.

"Gilbert wants to see you."

It wasn't an invitation but an order, which was made clear by the guy's blunt tone and intimidating body language. Lovino narrowed his eyes, determined to not show any signs of being affected by the other guy's obvious attempt to intimidate him.

"Well, you can tell him that I don't really want to see _him_ ", the Italian said in a low, guarded voice, instinctively closing his hand around Feliciano's wrist and pulling him closer so that he was partly hidden behind him.

The gesture didn't go unnoticed by the guy in front of them, as the nasty smirk on his face got wider.

"Well well, who do we have here? I'm sure Gilbert wouldn't mind a word with your pretty little brother either."

The other guy, who had been quietly sucking in the last smokes from his cigarette stump smirked as well, his look shifting from Lovino to the younger Italian behind him.

Lovino felt the blood in his veins suddenly become burning hot as he clenched his fists, taking a step to the right so that his brother was properly hidden behind his body.

"Don't... even... think about... touching him", he growled from between his gritted teeth, emphasizing each word as he glared at the two guys in front of him.

The guy standing a few feet further away threw the spent cigarette stump at Lovino's feet, an amused chuckle leaving his lips at the Italian's reaction.

"Or what? You're gonna make us pay for it?" The more muscular guy in front of Lovino asked, drawing out his words in a mocking manner as he continued to stare down at the Italian. Then the amused smirk left his face and his eyes narrowed menacingly.

"Gilbert's not done with you yet, so stop being a little bitch and come with us and we might let your brother go."

Lovino swallowed, not breaking the eye contact as he continued glaring at the ugly bastard in front of him. He was determined not to show any weakness, even though he could feel a dreadful sense of cold quickly replace the earlier burning in his veins. There was no way he could've made a witty remark when Feliciano was standing right behind him, Lovino's body being the only thing between him and the two dirty bastards. Lovino might have been able to take on those two by himself, but he couldn't take the risk that they would go after Feliciano to get back at him later.

Holding back a resigned sigh, the older Italian turned to his brother, closing his fingers around his wrist again as he forced himself to meet his eyes.

The younger Italian's features were frozen in a look of terror, eyes wide and lips slightly parted while any remaining color had disappeared from his face. The sight hit Lovino like a stab to the gut, causing the stern frown on his face to waver regardless of his resolution to keep any weakness hidden.

"Feli... you should go ahead. Your art club is starting."

Feliciano's lower lip trembled as a reaction to his words, but otherwise the younger Italian remained frozen still.

Lovino could hear one of the guys snicker behind him, sending a new surge of anger through his body. His grip tightened around his brother's wrist, not enough to hurt him but effective in breaking him out of his daze.

The younger Italian blinked, properly focusing his eyes on Lovino for the first time, eyebrows lifting up and creasing together in a pained look of worry.

"Just go. I'll be waiting for you in the usual spot", Lovino said quietly but sternly, releasing his hold around the thin wrist and balling his hand into a fist instead, letting his nails dig into his palm.

_...My face probably won't be nice to look at at that point though_.

Finally, Feliciano nodded, reluctance written all over his face. He turned his head to the side, as if it was suddenly difficult for him for meet Lovino's eyes, and made his way to the marble stairs, steps quick but lacking any of their earlier bounce.

The Italian followed two guys around the corner of the building to Gilbert's usual smoking place, where he was unsurprised to find the platinum haired guy lazily leaning against the wall. The strangely colored eyes narrowed under the platinum bangs as the corner of his mouth lifted up in a small smirk at Lovino's appearance. The muscles in Gilbert's bare shoulders bulged as he slowly pushed himself off the wall like a predator approaching its cornered prey.

Lovino clenched his already balled fists, feeling the anger burn under his skin as he watched Gilbert's relaxed movements. He resisted the sudden urge to lunge at him and wipe that smirk off his face, knowing that there was no way he could take on both Gilbert and the two other guys at the same time. He would just end up getting punched and kicked around like the last time Gilbert had gone after him, and the worst part was that Feliciano would have to see his battered face afterwards. The idea made Lovino's anger deflate like a balloon that somebody had stepped on, replaced by a sense of hopelessness that made his stomach sink as he watched Gilbert approach him with that sickening smirk on his face.

However, when Gilbert was only five feet away, he suddenly stopped, his look shifting from Lovino to something behind him. For a moment, Lovino had the terrifying thought that Feliciano had been stupid enough to come back, but when he looked over his shoulder, it wasn't his brother but Antonio who stood by the corner of the building, brows created in a serious frown that was unlike any expression the Italian had seen on his face before.

"What are you planning to do?" Antonio asked, the question directed at Gilbert as the brunet came to a halt next to Lovino.

"I don't see how that's any of your business. Or does our new little honor student want to get in trouble?"

Lovino's look shifted from Antonio to Gilbert and then back to Antonio again as his brain struggled to comprehend what was going on. What was Antonio doing, appearing out of nowhere and interfering with something that would only get him into trouble, trouble that shouldn't have been his in the first place?

As Lovino watched, the frown on Antonio's face only deepened, not a hint of fear or nervousness visible on his handsome features.

"I don't know what exactly is going on between you and Lovino, but there must be better ways to resolve it than this."

"Oh, really?" Gilbert said mockingly, even as the nasty smirk on his face was slowly being replaced by a wary scowl.

"Yes. I was actually looking for Lovino, so if you would excuse us, I'd like to talk to him. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

Antonio's serious frown smoothly turned into a polite smile that he directed at Gilbert along with a casual wave of his hand. Lovino watched the scowl on Gilbert's face deepen at the brunet's words, but for his amazement, he didn't do anything to stop him from placing a hand on the Italian's shoulder and walking him around the corner and back to the school yard.

Lovino remained dazed at the sudden turn of events - the fact that Antonio had appeared in the first place and the way his polite smile had been enough to make Gilbert leave him alone. The Italian remembered the way the brunet had looked at him a week ago, with his perfectly shaped eyebrows creased into a small frown and emerald eyes filled with inexplicable concern. Everything about Antonio had felt so genuine then, which he realized was the reason why he still couldn't get the way the touch of his fingertips had felt on his cheek off his mind. However, when the brunet has smiled at Gilbert, it had only been his lips that had curved slightly upwards while his eyes had remained cold in a way that had made Lovino's skin tingle unpleasantly.

"Are you okay?" Antonio asked from the Italian's side as they came to a halt on the side of the pathway.

It was the same question he'd asked after refusing to leave Lovino alone exactly a week ago when he'd been sitting on the ledge of the fountain, less than a dozen yards from where they stood now.

The frown on Lovino's face deepened as he turned to meet Antonio's look.

The concerned frown on the brunet's face gave Lovino a flashback to the previous time he'd seen the particular expression on his face, causing him to quickly avert his eyes. All the confusion he'd felt during the past week seemed to come crashing down on him, leaving him at a loss of what to do now that avoiding Antonio was no longer an option. Thinking about the pathetic state he'd been in when Antonio had taken him to his place to patch him up and the way he would have probably ended up like that again had the brunet not decided to intervene, Lovino felt humiliated in front of his concerned face.

The Italian curled his fingers around the cuffs of his sleeves, fighting the urge to pull on his good and walk off so that he wouldn't have to deal with the embarrassment that was eating at him on the inside. He hated showing weakness in front of people, especially guys like Antonio who were tall and muscular and automatically thought that he couldn't take care of himself.

_Well, in Antonio's case that should be justified, shouldn't it?_

_It's not like you did a very good job at taking care of yourself last week and today would have probably been the same without him stepping in._

_Maybe you really are that weak, after all._

Lovino's fingers tensed around the already suffered red fabric as he kept his look turned to the side, unable to face Antonio's worried look. He didn't need his pity, it was his problem and his problem alone if he was too weak to take care of himself and ended up getting beaten up whenever Gilbert felt like he could use a punching bag.

_But it's not only you who has to suffer, it's Feli as well._

The Italian thought of the terrified look on his brother's face when the two guys had confronted them, feeling a new wave of self-loath and despair wash over himself. He was completely out of ideas, unable to come up with anything to get out of the mess he'd got himself and his brother into while a single smile from Antonio was enough to get Gilbert to leave them alone.

_Yeah, he left you alone for now, but there's no way he's done with you just because Antonio showed up with his annoyingly handsome face and smiled at him._

Lovino's look shifted back to the brunet as a sudden realization hit him.

"I'm fine", he said grudgingly, studying the other guy from under his creased eyebrows as if he only now saw him properly. "But what do you think you're doing?"

The brunet met his eyes, only a hint of a frown on his face while the look in his emerald eyes was unreadable.

"I just told him that there are better ways of solving conflicts than beating people up", Antonio said, voice nonchalant but emerald eyes still studying the Italian carefully, as if trying to figure out why Gilbert was so keen on beating him up.

Lovino's eyes narrowed in frustration as he returned the brunet's attentive look. What on earth was Antonio thinking, openly confronting Gilbert about something that was in no way any of his business. There were few people at school who had been stupid enough to piss Gilbert off, Lovino being one of them, and everybody, including Antonio, knew where that had got him.

Could he have possibly thought that he would be able to get away with it because his family was rich? Lovino had no doubt that they were rich after he'd been to their house, but Gilbert was one of the richest kids in the expensive private high school they went to. The teachers didn't care if he smoked behind the arts building and occasionally beat someone up as long as his parents payed his tuition fee, and whatever consequences his behavior would have on his report card didn't seem to be much of a concern to him.

On the other hand, Antonio seemed like someone who cared about his future, someone who wouldn't want to ruin his reputation by getting into trouble with people like Gilbert.

"Look, I have no idea why you thought it would be a good idea to get involved, but I never asked for your help", Lovino said, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep his voice calm regardless of the increasing frustration that suddenly made him want to yell at the brunet for being so stupid.

The guy probably had straight A's on his report card, so why on earth would he risk ruining his reputation by sticking his nose into other people's business? And why was the prospect of Antonio getting into trouble bothering Lovino so much in the first place? As he'd just told him, the Italian has never asked for his help, so it shouldn't have been his problem if Antonio got into trouble by pissing Gilbert off.

Lovino got the sudden urge to slap himself across the face to try to get some order into the mess that was his mind. The memory of the previous Tuesday kept playing out in his head, the way Antonio's warm fingers had brushed over his skin and the deep concern in his emerald eyes, as if it personally hurt him to see the injuries on the Italian's face. Why did he have to remember it so clearly now, when he was supposed to be annoyed at the brunet for treating him like he was some sort of a useless damsel in distress... And being stupidly reckless as if he was deliberately trying to get into trouble.

But why should Lovino even care so much if Antonio got himself into trouble by being unable to mind his own business? Was it because he felt like he owed him something even though he had never asked for his help, or was it because he felt annoyed that someone like Antonio, who had a bright future ahead him, would be stupid enough to risk his reputation for something that wasn't even any of his business?

"I know you never asked for my help, but it just bothers me when people think they can treat others however they want to, without any consequences."

The brunet's brow creased slightly as his look shifted back to the corner of the arts building. Lovino has never thought of the guy as intimidating with the easygoing way he presented himself around their classmates and the worry with he had regarded the Italian, but the coldness that momentarily returned to his eyes was almost enough to send a shiver down Lovino's back.

_Maybe there's more to him than what first meets the eye_ , the Italian thought as the brunet finally turned his look back to him. The coldness in his eyes had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and a thoughtful frown had plastered itself on the handsome face.

Lovino got the feeling the other guy wanted to ask him what it was that made Gilbert go after him with the intention of beating him up, but he didn't feel like talking about it with him. What could he do anyway? Suggest he and Gilbert talked it out without resorting to violence? What kind of schools did they have in Chicago if Antonio seriously thought that would work out?

"That's very noble of you and everything", he said, voice flat despite the sarcasm. "But wouldn't it be better if you just minded your own business and went to read a book or something?" He remembered the huge bookshelf full of books he'd seen in the other guy's room in his fancy three floored house, a hint of bitterness seeping into his voice. "You don't want to disappoint your family, do you?"

Lovino could see the way Antonio's face muscles tensed at his words, the emerald green of his eyes momentarily turning into a dark shade of teal as a shadow passed over his face.

_I might have gone too far with the last remark,_ Lovino thought, unable to suppress the sting of guilt he felt at the way the brunet's expression had changed. Then he immediately felt frustrated at himself, reminding himself that it was Antonio who was sticking his nose into Lovino's business and not the other way around.

"Fine", the brunet said, strain audible in his voice despite the otherwise neutral tone. "See you around."

And with that, Antonio walked off to the direction of the main building, leaving Lovino standing by himself on the side of the cobblestone pathway, watching from under his furrowed eyebrows as the brunet's figure grew more distant before finally disappearing behind the grand double doors.

The frown on the Italian's face deepened as he thought of the shadow that had passed over Antonio's handsome features a moment ago.

_There's definitely more to him than what first meets the eye._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please tell me your thoughts on it in the comments! :)


	9. Involved

After finding Lovino sitting on the ledge of the small fountain on the previous Tuesday, Antonio had formed a habit of glancing at it whenever he walked through the school yard.

The Spaniard had noted that whenever he spotted the auburn-haired boy sitting there, he was always alone, sometimes reading a school book or looking at his phone, sometimes just watching the people passing by, his face mostly hidden under the hood he had pulled over his head. Today, however, was an exception, for instead of being by himself, Lovino was accompanied by the boy whom Antonio had seen with him on the previous day before his encounter with Gilbert. The boy looked like a thinner and paler version of Lovino, and the Spaniard had come to the conclusion that he must have been his younger brother.

The moment Antonio's eyes landed on the two of them, it was obvious to him that something was wrong. The pale boy with hair that was a similar amber color as Lovino's eyes was hunched over himself on the stone ledge, while the auburn-haired boy sat next to him with his hand placed on one of his shoulders, which Antonio noticed were trembling. Lovino's face was mostly hidden behind his auburn bangs as he leaned over his brother, talking to him quietly. As Antonio watched, the paler boy shook his head violently at whatever his brother had said before burying his face in his hands, his posture sinking down further as his shoulders rose and fell in an irregular rhythm.

Antonio's brows creased into a worried frown as he watched Lovino grip his brother by both shoulders, leaning in even closer as he appeared to talk to him slowly and quietly.

Was he hyperventilating?

Should he be taken to the nurse's office or would Lovino be able to get him to calm down on his own?

The Spaniard thought back to the times when he'd woken up to a nightmare in the middle of the night when he'd been younger, feeling like the darkness was closing in around him and suffocating him, leaving him desperately gasping for air. He had always tried to keep himself from crying because his father had told him that Fernandezes don't cry, but sometimes the panic caused by not being able to breathe had simply been too much. It had already been years since the last time that had happened, but the memories were still vivid enough to make Antonio feel a sting of empathy as he watched Lovino try to calm down his brother, who was clearly in a state of panic.

Antonio shook the memory and all the emotions that accompanied it off his mind, reminding himself about his decision to give Lovino some space after what had happened on the day before. While the Spaniard was usually able to appear unaffected when someone offended him, he would have been lying if he'd claimed that Lovino's remark about him disappointing his family hadn't hit a sore spot. For a moment, he had felt like snapping at the auburn-haired boy, telling him that he shouldn't comment on things he didn't know anything about, but he had thankfully caught himself early enough. After all, it was Antonio who was sticking his nose into Lovino's business, and compared to Lovino's situation, the Spaniard shouldn't have had anything to complain about.

Antonio forced himself to take his eyes off the two boys, reminding himself of the fact that his AP biology class was starting in five minutes. However, as he continued his way towards the school building, the Spaniard thought about the way the paler and thinner boy had hidden behind Lovino on the day before when the two guys had confronted them, and how anxious Lovino had looked when he'd ushered him to leave before following the guys around the corner. The Spaniard wondered if Gilbert was using him to blackmail Lovino, and if that was the reason why the auburn-haired boy had followed the two guys without any resistance, even though Gilbert's intentions were obviously malicious. That would have also explained why he had regarded his own injuries with such indifference on the previous Tuesday, as if he was more worried about his brother than himself.

No matter what his parents had taught him about everyone being responsible for themselves, it just didn't feel right to Antonio that Lovino had to deal with whatever trouble he had with Gilbert alone, all the while looking out for his brother at the same time. Yes, technically it shouldn't have been any of his business and he was well aware of the fact that getting involved could get him into trouble, but the Spaniard found it hard to believe that Lovino deserved to be repeatedly beaten up, whatever it was that had made Gilbert go after him in the first place. There were always factors that one didn't have control over, and Antonio didn't think it was fair to say that Lovino was weak for not being able to defend himself against three guys who were all much bigger than him.

That was why Antonio had been unable to walk away when he had seen the two guys take Lovino around the corner, where Gilbert had been waiting for him. The Spaniard knew that the platinum-haired guy had only left Lovino alone because he had been taken aback by Antonio stepping in, and that it probably wouldn't work for a second time. Gilbert seemed like the kind of a rich kid who was used to being able to do whatever he wanted to because his parents were busy and didn't really care, and he had enough experience on private schools to know that those kids were the most difficult to deal with. However, even though the way they behaved was inexcusable, he couldn't help but to feel a little sorry when he thought of what had made them turn out like that.

The Spaniard knew what it felt like when your parents were gone most of the time, and even when they were around, you still felt like they didn't really see you. When he had been younger, he hadn't really been able to explain the distance that had seemed to be between him and his parents even when they were sitting around the same dinner table. However, later on, when he had realized that not all families were like that, he'd understood where that sense of distance came from: even when his parents were right in front of him, he felt like they didn't really see him for who he was, but for who they _wanted_ him to be.

The thing that sometimes scared Antonio was that he wasn't really sure if there was anything more to him than what his parents had taught him. He realized that when he thought of what kind of a person he was, the list of things he could come up with was very similar to the way his parents wanted him to be: he felt proud of himself when he did well in sprinting competitions and his classes at school, he enjoyed talking to new people and seeing new places, even if moving from one place to the other so often had its downsides.

Sometimes, Antonio felt like there should have been more to him than that, something more personal that he felt like had existed before but that he'd lost at some point while growing up. Stepping in when Gilbert had confronted Lovino had been a deviation from his usual way of focusing on meeting his goals and making his parents proud. In fact, it had been completely against what his parents had taught him, and while that should have made him feel disappointed in himself, it had instead made him feel a sense of freedom that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

The decision to follow Lovino and the two other guys around the corner and intervene had been made by that inherent part of Antonio that was usually buried deep under the more conventional thought patterns. The Spaniard wasn't usually one to act recklessly and without thinking about the consequences of his actions, but when he had seen the two guys confront Lovino and the boy who must have been his younger brother, the sense of dread that had settled in his stomach had made it impossible for him to simply walk past them. The memory of the injuries on Lovino's petit face and the desolate look in his beautiful amber eyes had filled his mind with the thought that he couldn't let the auburn-haired boy get hurt again, not when he actually had the chance to do something about it this time.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected Lovino to say to him when he'd taken him back to the school yard. Last Tuesday, he'd got the impression that the auburn-haired boy was reluctant to accept help from others, so he hadn't expected him to thank him without questioning why he was getting involved in his business again. Even though the bitterness in Lovino's remark might have caught Antonio off guard, he could understand Lovino's reluctance to accept his help when he thought of what his parents had taught him about the importance of independence and how he should avoid getting into situations where he owed someone something.

As Antonio entered the biology classroom, where most of the other students were already seated at their desks, he thought back to the look of wariness and confusion he'd seen on Lovino's face when he'd asked him about his bleeding lip on the previous Tuesday. Back then, he'd assumed the reason for Lovino's confusion to be the fact that Antonio was basically a stranger to him, but now he wondered if the actual reason was that he wasn't used to having _anyone_ look out for him.

The Spaniard greeted a few of his classmates as he made his way to his desk, sitting down and taking out his laptop to prepare for the start of the class. The Spaniard couldn't help but to feel amazed at the lack of regret that he felt for getting involved in something that had a high risk of getting him into trouble, something that the logical part of his mind usually told him to stay far away from. However, he realized that the nervousness he felt for going against that voice of reason was outweighed by the feeling that he was doing the right thing, that he was for once doing something not because he _had_ to, but because he _wanted_ to.

Getting involved might have been against everything his parents had taught him about striving for success and staying out of trouble, but somehow it made Antonio feel more like _himself_ than he'd felt in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please tell me your thoughts on the story so far in the comments - I'm in the middle of a sort of a writer's block and could really use some feedback!


	10. Scattered Petals

A small, content smile grazed Feliciano's lips as he leaned into the warm body pressing against his back.

His eyes were closed, which only made his senses more receptive to the way the pair of strong arms felt as they wrapped around his waist, closing him in a gentle embrace that filled his chest with a warm sense of safety and comfort that was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was completely different from the way he had been touched by the various guys he'd dated before, whose touch had felt more like that of a hungry predator than of a gentle lover. It was exactly what the young Italian had yearned for for so long that it made his chest feel like it would soon burst from the overwhelming sense of fullness.

The Italian realized that his eyes were starting to sting under his closed eyelids, which quickly caused the fuzzy warmth in his chest to be replaced by a cold wave of panic. Surely the gentle arms around his waist would let go in disgust if he displayed such disgraceful emotions, showing how desperate and broken he really was.

Feliciano's eyes snapped open as he woke up, gasping for air that had been snatched away from his lungs by the wave of panic that had washed over him in his dream. He felt like there was something stuck in his throat, causing him to have difficulty breathing as the unshed tears stung in his eyes, the memory of the strong arms around his body still lingering on his mind.

However, it didn't take long before the memory of his dream was replaced by the memories of what had happened earlier on the same day, before he had shut himself in his room and curled up on his bed, where he'd eventually fallen asleep: He had completely broken down at school where anybody could have seen him and realized what a mess he really was, and he had skipped his history class to go home early because of his incapability to pull himself together regardless on his brother's attempts to get him to calm down.

The young Italian hugged his pillow and curled up further into himself as if it would help him to shield himself from the outside world and the shame he felt at the idea of people seeing how pathetic he truly was.

 _But the problem is not the outside world_ , a familiar, taunting voice whispered in his head.

_It's you._

You're _the faulty one, whether people can see it or not._

The Italian took in a shaky breath, letting his eyes flutter shut as the first tear trickled down his cheek. The tightness in his chest and the way his throat was closing up, making it increasingly hard for him to breathe, only caused the memories in his mind to become more vivid.

He had been walking through the hallway at school to get to his history class when Gilbert and the two guys who usually followed him around had emerged from behind a corner, catching him by surprise. They hadn't said anything to him, but the platinum-haired guy had met his eyes with a taunting smirk on his face, enveloping him in the pungent smell of cigarette smoke as he'd walked past him, close enough for his arm to brush against the Italian's shoulder.

With the previous day's encounter still fresh in his mind, Feliciano had completely frozen, remaining in a state of shock-induced paralysis until the three guys had disappeared around another corner at the end of the hallway. After regaining the ability to move his limbs, the Italian had reminded himself that he was supposed to go to class, only to realize that his heart was beating way too quickly in his chest while he didn't seem to be getting enough air into his lungs, regardless of the frantic breaths he kept taking in. As he'd reached out to get some support from the wall, a noisy group of students had passed by, reminding him of the fact that he was at school, where everybody would see his breakdown if he failed to pull himself together.

The thought had caused a fresh wave of panic to wash over the Italian, making his mind blank out, leaving him with only one sensible thought that he'd clung onto like it was his lifeline:

_He had to find Lovino._

_He had to find his brother, and he had to do it quickly before he would collapse from the lack of air that was already making him feel lightheaded._

Knowing that he didn't have any time to waste, Feliciano had practically run through the hallways and out to the school yard, where he'd hoped to find his brother in his usual spot at the fountain. However, as he'd run through the pathway, the lightheadedness had made everything around him blend into an indistinct blur and he'd ended up running into something hard that had forced him to stop in his tracks. 'Something hard' has proved to be some _one;_ a stoic-looking basketball team member who was on the same year level as Feliciano and, coincidentally, Gilbert's younger brother.

Feliciano had been so shocked by the turn of events that he had completely frozen for the second time in the last five minutes. When he'd eventually recovered from his shock enough to fully register what was happening, he'd realized that the tall blond - Ludwig- was holding him upright by the shoulders while examining his face, his brows creased into a frown.

However, before Ludwig had had the time to ask him why he had just practically run into him, the Italian had stuttered out a breathless "I-I'm sorry" before ducking under his arm and sprinting the rest of the way to the fountain.

_To Lovino._

_To the only person who could get him to calm down once he broke down._

_To the only person who had stayed around through his whole life._

_Because he didn't have a choice._

_Because he was his brother._

_Because he was stuck with a burden like Feliciano._

The skin on the Italian's cheeks stung from the tears that kept trickling down his face and soaking his pillow.

He thought back to the previous day, when he'd practically run to the art classroom after the encounter with Gilbert. He had only barely managed to stop himself from having a panic attack, his mind filled with images of what could have been happening to his brother behind the same building. He had quickly made his way to his station, hoping that nobody would pay much attention to how he was clearly out of breath, which could have been explained by him being in a hurry to get there on time.

He had taken one look at the canvas that had been prepared for him before carefully pushing it aside, using all his self-control to force his breathing to calm down while trying to push the horrible imagines to a far corner of his mind, along with the voice that kept whispering in his mind, telling him how worthless he was and how it was all his fault that his brother was getting hurt again. His hands had been visibly shaking as he'd taken out his sketchbook and pencil case, clinging onto the desperate hope that expressing his emotions through art would help him to calm down, at least enough to keep himself from breaking down before he could get to the privacy of his room in their apartment.

He had stared at the design that had still been attached to the empty pages in his sketchbook: A delicately built boy kneeling down in the middle of a flower garden, reaching out with his hand, on which lay scattered rose petals. Flower petals were scattered on the rest of his body as well, while around him beautiful, undamaged flowers bloomed. The design conveyed a sense of yearning and despair, but also hope and purpose, hope for reaching the beautiful, blooming flowers and becoming whole and complete like them.

Feliciano had stared at the page a while longer while a sudden sense of numbness had taken over his body. Then, with his hands no longer trembling and his breathing completely calm, the young Italian had slowly ripped the top page off his sketchbook, only stopping to tuck it inside his bag before opening his pencil case and picking up a black ink pen.

On a new, blank page, he had to started drawing a new design, his hand moving almost as if on its own as he watched the smooth, black lines taint the white paper: The same boy from the previous sketch, kneeling hunched in a sea of flower petals that reached until his upper back while more petals rested on his head and shoulders. The background was black, as opposed to the sunlit garden in the previous drawing, like a night sky without a moon or stars, or simply nothingness, as if the sea of flowers and the boy existed in a place that was disconnected from the rest of the world, floating in space or hidden somewhere in the endless darkness of the human mind.

There was no direction, no sense of purpose or hope for anything.

There was only darkness, loss and fear.

Feliciano's art was always inspired by personal emotions and perceptions, but that drawing was by far the most personal piece he had ever made. Even though the deep meaning behind the lines of black ink was conveyed through symbolism and there was the possibility that people would interpret it in different ways, the idea of showing it to anyone made the Italian feel scarily bare and vulnerable. The Italian had poured so much of his fear and loneliness into the design that he couldn't help but to feel like anyone who looked at it would see right through him and any of his pathetic attempts to pretend that he wasn't breaking apart on the inside.

He remembered how his father had always told him that the greatest masterpieces were usually inspired by strong emotions, and that those emotions were valuable for artists, even if they caused them great suffering. He couldn't help but to wonder if his father would have thought that the birth of a meaningful piece of art was worth all the pain he was going through.

_Probably._

The thought made Feliciano's heart sting painfully, even though he should have already accepted the fact that to his father, art had always meant more than his family. That was why he had left him and Lovino alone with their mother when they'd been little after getting the opportunity to open his own art gallery in New York. That was why he had never showed any concern for his sons after he'd left, even though he had known that his ex-wife was prone to sudden mood-swings and losing her temper, which was the main reason why he had divorced her in the in the first place.

The only things he had done for them was send their mother and later on Grandpa Roma enough money to take care of them, and eventually enroll them in the expensive private high school in Florida, as if that would make up for his lack of presence in their lives.

 _Don't forget his offer to you_ , Feliciano reminded himself as he rested his cheek against the tear-soaked pillow, the skin still feeling sensitive even though the stream of tears had already died down. 

The last time his father had talked to him on the phone several months ago after seeing pictures of some of his works, he had offered to one day present his art in his gallery in New York. The Italian would have been lying to himself if he'd tried to claim that he wasn't tempted by the offer, as his father's influence in the art circles would give him a great opportunity to pursue a career in art.

However, he felt more than a little conflicted about accepting his help after all the years he had neglected him and his brother and knowing how much Lovino would have disapproved of it. After all, the older Italian had been grudging to even attend the high school because their father was the one paying their tuition fees and it was his wish that they went there, as the school's reputation would give them a better chance of being accepted into a good university. Feliciano understood Lovino's bitterness towards their father, but unlike his brother, he had always been bad at holding grudges, which made him easy to forgive those who had mistreated him.

 _That's because in the end, you always feel like_ you _are the one to blame for all the pain that you have to go through._

 _But isn't that true, though?_ The taunting voice whispered in his head, making the young Italian curl even tighter into himself, pillow still clutched between his arms and legs as if it would offer him some sort of comfort.

_Isn't that the reason why nobody stays around for long?_

Feliciano thought of the pair of strong arms that had embraced him so lovingly in his dream, making him feel so warm and so comfortable, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Now he was almost shivering regardless of the warm room temperature, as if a void had opened in his chest and sucked all the warmth from his body.

_You're just like the scattered petals: broken and lost in the darkness, without any hope of attaining something whole and beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading my story, especially those who have commented or left kudos!


	11. Dead End

Lovino spun on his left foot, kicking the empty space in front of him with his right shin before resuming his stance and aiming a blow of his elbow at an invisible enemy behind him.

_Stronger._

_I have to get stronger._

He used the momentum from the backward elbow jab to turn his body around while punching the air with his left first, followed shortly with a right hook and a new series of punches, all aimed at the air roughly four inches above Lovino's own face level, where he imagined a familiar sneering face looking down at him with a pair of purple-tinted eyes.

The Italian was too self-conscious of his small frame to go to the school gym, where he would have been surrounded by members of the school's various sports clubs and guys like Gilbert, but he worked out at home in his room almost every day after school. He had learned kickboxing and a variety of different martial arts techniques by watching YouTube videos, and punching and kicking the air helped him to relieve his frustrations, while also making him feel like he was doing something to become strong enough SO that people wouldn't be able to use him as their punching bag whenever they felt like it.

A memory from the previous Tuesday quickly resurfaced in Lovino's mind, a memory of him lying flat on his stomach on the hard concrete with Gilbert's foot pressing into his back. However, it wasn't the burning in his lungs that had been deprived of air or the kicks that would have soon hit his ribs that he remembered the most vividly, but it was the only clear thought that he had been clinging onto in that moment: The thought that at least Feliciano wasn't the one getting hurt. That was what mattered the most to him, after all: Not his own dignity, but his brother's safety and well-being.

_And that's why you have to get stronger._

_Not for your own sake, but for Feliciano's._

The image of Gilbert's sneering face suddenly turned into that if his own mother, making the Italian instinctively clench his fists tighter as he kept punching and kicking the air around him.

He remembered how angry he'd felt all those times when he'd struggled in his mother's hold in vain, too small and helpless to defend himself when she lost her temper and took her anger out on her sons. He remembered all those times when he'd comforted Feliciano when his mother had left them alone in their bedroom, scalp stinging from being grabbed by the hair and whisked around, small body trembling with anger and bitterness as he swore to himself that one day he would get strong enough to defend himself and his brother.

_And look at yourself now, still at the mercy of anyone who decides to humiliate you._

The same anger from when he was little burned in Lovino's veins as he let another set of sharp punches and jabs hit the air in front of him, where he imagined Gilbert's smug, smirking face staring down at him.

He thought about the previous day and how Feliciano had had a panic attack at school before the last class for the day. Even though Lovino had eventually managed to get him to calm down, the signs of crying had been obvious on the younger Italian's face, and the thought of having people see him in that condition had almost been enough to trigger another panic attack. To prevent that from happening, Lovino had had to more or less drag his brother off the school grounds and to the bus stop, but even after they'd got home and the older Italian had prepared something to eat, Feliciano had barely touched his food, constantly spacing out at the table and withdrawing into his room as soon as he could.

The thought of the glazed look in his brother's large amber eyes and the way his body looked so scarily frail caused the burning anger to change into a painful ache that filled Lovino's chest, making his arms suddenly feel strangely heavy as he hit the imaginary Gilbert with an uppercut to the chin, quickly followed by a left hook. The knee kick that he aimed at where Gilbert's stomach would have been came out slower and clumsier than he'd intended, causing him to scold himself for letting his focus slip in the middle of a workout.

He stood still in the middle of his bedroom, letting his burning arms momentarily fall to his sides before wiping the sweaty bangs off his forehead with the back of his hand. A small, thoughtful frown formed on his face as he thought back to his mathematics class, where he'd seen Gilbert in the morning. The platinum-haired guy had had a noticeable bruise below his left eye, and he'd been unusually quiet and broody instead of his usual loud and obnoxious self.

While it was common for Gilbert to be involved in fights that he most of the time started himself, it was usually his opponents who ended up with a bruised face while he rarely received any visible injuries himself – the last time being when Lovino had punched him in the face in the end of the previous semester. As the Italian had thought about who it could have been that had managed to deal Gilbert such a hard blow, the first person he'd found himself thinking of had been no one else but Antonio, the new kid who was apparently unfamiliar with the concept of minding his own business. However, while Antonio was tall and obviously athletic, his friendly honor student image and talk about how violence was not the right solution made it hard for Lovino to imagine him punching someone in the face.

However, as he thought of the coldness that had momentarily filled the brunet's emerald eyes when he'd talked to Gilbert and the shadow that had passed over his face when Lovino had lashed out at him in frustration, the Italian wondered just how much of Antonio's friendly and easygoing image was merely a façade, and what it was that he was hiding under it. He had initially come to the conclusion that it was some sort of a hero complex that made the brunet want to save random people from trouble, but now he couldn't help but to wonder what his real motives were.

_Maybe he wants to make you his sidekick._

_Maybe he wants his own gang of followers like Gilbert and thinks that once you owe him enough favors, you'll have no chance but to do whatever he says._

Lovino completed a final series of sharp punches and kicks before relaxing his stance again, although his fists still remained clenched by his sides. Punching the air might have passed for decent exercise, but it wasn't enough to ease the tightness in his chest or to help him to sort out his thoughts, which were currently running around in useless circles.

As he caught his breath, Lovino's eyes focused on the empty wall across the room. His fists itched to collide with something hard and concrete, and since Gilbert's face wasn't there, the wall would have to do.

Beads of sweat trickled down the Italian's taut face as he took two determined strides towards the wall in front of him. Now close enough to touch the worn-out white paint with his fist by the mere extension of his arm, Lovino focused his eyes on a spot in front of his face where the paint had peeled off, then resumed his stance with his fists raised to shield his face from an invisible opponent and his feet shoulder-width apart, the left one slightly in front of the right one. A second later, he aimed a sharp punch at the wall, hitting the one-inch wide strip where the paint had peeled off square with his left fist.

Lovino slowly let both of his hands fall back to his sides, closing his eyes as he rubbed his thumb over the aching knuckles of his left hand. The contact caused the damaged skin to sting, and the Italian knew that the skin would be a little red and possibly bruised for a few days, but that was as far as the damage went.

Lovino let out a long sigh in an attempt to get rid of the still remaining tightness in his chest, then opened his eyes again, heading to pick up his workout mattress from the corner next to the door. Even if punching the wall hadn't completely removed the tightness in his chest, the throbbing ache in his left hand made his mind feel a little clearer as he sat down on the mattress and started doing sit-ups.

Dealing with people whose motives he couldn't understand made Lovino uneasy, as it was impossible for him to predict what they would do next. Antonio had proved to be a prime example of such a person, for each time Lovino tried to categorize him, the brunet did something completely unexpected that didn't fit his earlier impression and brought the Italian back to square one in figuring him out. It was rather ironic that Lovino was spending more resources to figure out the motives of the person who was trying to help him than to figure out how to solve the mess that had caused him to need his help in the first place.

_Need his help?_

Lovino's face scrunched up into a scowl at his own thoughts as he reached twenty reps. He didn't _need_ anyone's help, least of all the help of someone whose true motives still remained a complete mystery to him. He had never asked for Antonio's help, and he had meant it when he'd told him to mind his own business two days ago, even if he felt a little guilty for lashing out at him. It might have actually worked though, for unlike during the previous week, the brunet hadn't tried to talk to him since their encounter on Tuesday.

_So why the fuck do you keep expecting him to try to bother you every time you see him at school?_

_You should be fucking relieved that he might have finally left you alone._

The scowl on Lovino's face deepened as he reached forty reps - or was it fifty already? Dammit, he'd lost count of how many reps he'd done and it was all because of Antonio sticking his nose into his business and making what had already been a mess into an even _bigger_ mess.

Why should he feel guilty for being a little harsh to someone who refused to listen to him when he told him to mind his own business? And even more importantly, why would he suddenly need help from someone who was practically a stranger to him when he had been doing perfectly fine by himself until now?

_You have been doing perfectly fine until now?_

_Bullshit._

Lovino let his back hit the thin exercise mattress as he caught his breath, the combination of physical and mental strain making it feel like the room around him was spinning as he stared at the ceiling above him.

He had been telling himself that he was doing fine for years, even though deep down he'd always known that it was nothing but a pathetic lie he kept clinging onto while trying to keep the mountain he was carrying on his shoulders from tumbling down on him and crushing him under a pile of rocks. Before, he had had no choice but to bear that weight alone, and the lack of choice had been the reason why he had been able to keep going until now, the reason he had been able to dig his way out from the pile of rubble each time it collapsed on top of him, again and again. However, now that a certain someone had decided to stick his nose into his business, Lovino had slowly started to lose his resolve to keep struggling on his own.

By giving him a choice, Antonio had driven him into a dead end, as ironic as it was.

Lovino squeezed his eyes shut tightly enough to see white spots dance around before his eyelids. That was the reason why he couldn't get rid of the memory of the gentle touch of Antonio's fingers on his bruised cheek, or the way the concern in his bright emerald eyes had looked so sincere when he'd regarded his injuries: No matter how many times the Italian tried to convince himself that he didn't need Antonio's help, he kept secretly holding onto those memories as if they were the only thing keeping him from crumbling under the crushing weight on his shoulders.

Lovino remembered the sense of vulnerability he'd felt, going into a stranger's house and letting him tend to his injuries, and he remembered the lack of resistance he'd showed, the way he'd simply followed the brunet even though it was against any reason he normally possessed. According to all sense, he should have hated feeling so vulnerable in front of someone who was practically a stranger to him - he should have hated feeling so vulnerable in front of _anyone_ – but somehow the predominant feeling he'd had when he'd sat there on Antonio's sofa while the brunet cleaned his split lip with disinfectant had been something very similar to _relief._

_Relief for not having to be on your own._

_Relief for having someone to take care of you for a change._

Lovino swallowed, trying to get rid of the large lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He hated feeling weak, he hated being at the mercy of others and he hated it when people looked down on him and deemed him incapable of taking care of himself. However, now it was more obvious than ever just how weak he really was and how pathetically helpless he was in front of the mess that he had got himself and his brother into. He remembered the way he'd held Feliciano's trembling shoulders on the day before and how scarily fragile the younger Italian had felt under his hands, and the memory filled his chest with an ache strong enough to drown out any remaining pain in his left hand.

The Italian clenched his jaw, starting a new set of sit-ups in the hope that the burning in his abs would divert at least some of his attention from the painful tightness in his chest. The thought that he was clueless about Antonio's true motives for helping him made Lovino uneasy, but the memories from the previous Tuesday, the sincerity in the brunet's eyes and the way he hadn't hesitated for a second when he'd told him he was helping him because he wanted to, made Lovino want to trust him.

Lovino _wanted_ to trust him, and that was what made him feel so frustrated, both at himself for being so pathetically incapable of handling his own problems and at Antonio for forcing him to realize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Any feedback you might have is greatly appreciated!


	12. Honesty

_Antonio was on his way to the track field for his after-school practice on Friday when a familiar voice behind him called out his name. The voice was audibly hesitant and a little hoarse in a way that indicated it hadn’t been used for a while, but somehow it still managed to sound pleasantly melodic.  
_

_The Spaniard’s steps immediately came to a halt as a mixture of surprise and excitement stirred in his chest, spreading a strange tingling sensation through his body. He turned to greet the owner of the voice with his lips spread into a genuine smile, but his smile quickly faltered as he took in the appearance of boy in front of him._

_As usual, Lovino was wearing a way-too-warm-looking pullover – this time a dark grey one with black strings - with the hood pulled over his head. His posture looked sagged, with his head hung low and one of his hands loosely holding the strap of the bag he had slung over his shoulder while the other one hung limply by his side. The lifeless posture that lacked any of the other boy’s usual vigilance instantly alarmed the Spaniard, reminding him of the time he’d found him sitting on the ledge of the fountain on the previous week._

The scene from the day before played out in Antonio’s mind, as it had done countless of times during the past 24 hours: Lovino calling out his name, him turning around, Lovino asking him if he could talk to him after school and him telling the auburn-haired boy that he had to go to track practice but that he could meet up with him on the next day.

Antonio felt a pang of guilt at the thought, even though technically he hadn’t done anything wrong. School and track had always come first in his list of priorities, so it was only natural that everything else had to come second. He also couldn’t have agreed to meet Lovino after practice, since his parents were home and he didn’t want them to think he was slacking off for staying out longer than necessary, and he didn’t know how long he would have spent talking with Lovino.

Those reasons should have been enough to convince him that he had done what he was supposed to do and followed his priorities, but was ‘what he was supposed to do’ really the  _right_  thing to do? The last time the Spaniard had felt like he was doing the right thing had been when he’d intervened with Lovino and Gilbert’s confrontation, even though it was completely against the list of priorities he was supposed to be following.

Antonio checked his phone, his eyes met with a picture of the Rocky Mountains against a partly cloudy sky in the Banff National Park. The several white clouds floating in the otherwise clear sky were reflected on the calm surface of Peyton Lake, which was flanked by dark green spruce trees growing on the banks. The Spaniard had taken the picture himself when he’d gone on a hiking trip organized by the school he’d attended a year ago in Edmonton, Canada. Looking at the picture, he could still remember the sense of calm he’d felt as he’d stood on the cliffs, looking at the imposing landscape while breathing in the pleasant scent of various different wildflowers.

However, as the Spaniard stared at the numbers telling him that the time was 3:07 PM, the beautiful landscape and the pleasant memories associated with it weren’t enough to stop a small frown from appearing on his face.

Could it have been that Lovino had changed his mind about coming to meet him after being told to wait until the next day? The fact that the auburn-haired boy had approached him in the first place after systematically avoiding him had already caught Antonio by surprise, and given how hesitant he’d seemed when asking to meet up with the Spaniard, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d had second thoughts. Antonio also realized that if he wouldn’t show up, he had no means of contacting the other boy, who had never given him his phone number.

Antonio looked around himself from his spot by a tall palm tree in the middle of the crowded courtyard of one of the local shopping malls. He scanned the flow of people passing by or just standing around in small groups, trying to identify Lovino’s familiar shape, which was easy to recognize due to his strange habit of wearing a pullover in an 85-degree weather. They had agreed to meet there at 3 PM, and even though Antonio had only visited the mall once with a few of his fellow track team members, he was certain that he had found his way to the agreed place. 

For the nth time, Antonio wondered what it could have been that had suddenly made Lovino want to talk to him after avoiding him for nearly two weeks. The Spaniard couldn’t help but to feel a gnawing sense of worry as he thought of how tired and lifeless the auburn-haired boy had looked when he’d approached him on the day before. He wondered if something had happened that had made things worse, and if it had something to do with Antonio confronting Gilbert on an impulse.

_That’s why you should never act on reckless impulses._

_What if you made things worse for him by trying to help?_

Antonio felt a cold sense of apprehension settle at the bottom of his stomach as he thought of the possible consequences of his actions. Had Gilbert taken out his anger on Lovino after Antonio had confronted him? But then again, while the auburn-haired boy had looked alarmingly tired and despondent, there had been no signs of physical injuries on his face. Could it have been that Gilbert had done something to his brother, or used him to blackmail Lovino?

Antonio’s look passed over dozens of unfamiliar faces as a small, almost unnoticeable frown formed on his face. His thoughts returned to the English class he’d attended on the day before, where he’d seen Gilbert from up close for the first time after their encounter on Tuesday. There had been an unmistakable bruise below his eye; a bruise which had been very similar to the one that had been on Lovino’s face on the previous week. The platinum-haired guy had also been uncharacteristically quiet an unobtrusive, making it obvious that his pride had taken as much of a hit as his face.

Antonio found it an odd coincidence that both Lovino and Gilbert were behaving in an uncharacteristic way at the same time. Had they had a fight and Lovino had punched the platinum-haired guy while managing to remain uninjured himself? Antonio found it hard to imagine, considering the fact that Gilbert was rarely seen without his followers around school, which meant that the auburn-haired boy wouldn’t have only been up against Gilbert but several other guys as well.

The Spaniard’s thoughts were interrupted as he finally spotted the person he’d been looking for amid the dozens of unfamiliar figures. The sight of the auburn-haired boy immediately sent a wave of relief through Antonio, easing the guilt he had felt earlier for making the other boy wait instead of agreeing to talk to him immediately on the day before. 

The Spaniard waved at the other boy, taking in his appearance as he made his way to where he was waiting. The auburn-haired boy was wearing the same grey pullover that he had worn at school on the previous day, with blue jeans and black skate shoes that looked like they had already seen their better days. The only thing that was different from the times when Antonio had seen him at school was the fact that he didn’t have his usual messenger bag with him. 

Much like on the day before, Lovino’s hood-covered head was hung low, causing the Spaniard to wonder how he avoided bumping into people as he walked. As he came to a halt in front of him, Antonio got the first proper look at his face, which was shadowed by his hood and the strands of hair that hung on his forehead. The Spaniard could have sworn that the dark circles under his eyes had become darker since the day before, and his concern was only deepened by the way the shorter boy’s eyes looked strangely glazed, never quite meeting his look.

Antonio greeted Lovino and asked him if he would like to go to one of the various cafés around the courtyard. The only response he received was a small nod of the other boy’s head, but the lack of a proper greeting hardly bothered the Spaniard, who had already got used to Lovino’s disregard towards polite manners. Just the fact that he had wanted to talk to him and actually showed up, even if a little late, was a major improvement from their earlier encounters, and Antonio hoped that he would finally get to learn more about what exactly was going on between the auburn-haired boy and Gilbert. 

The Spaniard led Lovino to the nearest café and ordered coffee for both of them, although the auburn-haired boy insisted on paying for his own by practically shoving the money at the puzzled-looking waiter. The café was rather crowded, but Antonio managed to find a free table for two, and the two of them sat down in silence. The Spaniard could tell that the shorter boy was feeling uncomfortable as his fingers fidgeted with the handle of his coffee cup, his look shifting from one place to another, only briefly landing on Antonio before quickly focusing on something else again. 

The Spaniard couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of hurt at the thought that his presence made Lovino so uncomfortable, but he willed himself not to show it on his face as he waited for the other boy to say something.

The silence stretched on for a while longer until Lovino finally let go of his cup and brought both of his hand to his lap instead. The movement was somehow reluctant, as if the coffee cup had offered him some sort of reassurance. 

“I’m scared”, Lovino said in a small, low voice that was almost drowned out by the chattering of the people around them. His shoulders were visibly tense, and he looked like he was fumbling with his hands under the table, his eyes fixed down to avoid facing the Spaniard in front of him.

Lovino’s amber eyes were dark with emotion under the strands of auburn hair that hung over his face. The grey hoodie he was wearing highlighted the vibrant color of the strands of auburn hair that peeked out from under the hood, but his normally tan skin looked unhealthily dull and the dark circles under his eyes had definitely got darker since the day before. His posture sunk even further down as he let out a long sigh, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, fixing his look at his own lap. 

“I don’t know what to do.”

Lovino’s voice was barely more than a rough whisper, and the bare honesty in his words was like a stab right into Antonio’s heart. The Spaniard felt a desperate urge to do something - anything - to make the other boy feel better, but at the same time he felt at a loss of words, lacking the knowledge of what exactly was going on with him and what he could do to help him. 

_Just say something._

_Just say something to make him realize that you want to help or else he might just run away like before._

“Why are you scared?” Antonio finally asked, willing his voice to sound calm even though the pained expression on the auburn-haired boy’s face was making his chest ache painfully. 

“My brother... Feliciano”, Lovino said quietly, his voice sounding like there was something stuck in his throat, “I don’t know how to help him.” 

The auburn-haired boy blinked his eyes several times, and Antonio could see the way he clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensing further under invisible strain.

“I never do”, Lovino breathed out, his look still fixed at his lap, eyes almost hidden behind the auburn bangs.

Antonio recalled the scene he’d witnessed three days ago: Lovino comforting another boy who resembled him greatly, except for the fact that his complexion was much lighter and his hair was the color of amber instead of auburn. The Spaniard remembered the way the amber-haired boy’s shoulders had been trembling as if he was crying and the way Lovino had held him by the shoulders, trying to get him to calm down.

On the next day at school, Antonio had passed the amber-haired boy in a hallway, leaning against a wall and chatting with a group of friends. On the first glance, he had looked like any out-going kid hanging out with his friends, but as the Spaniard had looked at him a little more carefully, he had noticed that his complexion was way too pale to be healthy, and that there was something concerning about the way he held onto the wall with his left hand, as if he was having trouble staying on his feet.

“What happened to your brother?”

Lovino picked up his coffee cup, fingers gripping the handle tightly, and took a sip. The coffee must have still been burning hot, but the auburn-haired boy didn’t seem to care. 

The silence stretched on for a while longer as Lovino placed the cup back on the saucer, maintaining his hold on the handle. 

“He always gets hurt”, he finally said, staring at the cup of coffee with his brows creased together in an accusing frown. His jaw was visibly clenched, lips barely parting as he spoke, the words coming out equally strained. “There’s always some asshole who hurts him.”

The coffee cup made a clinging sound against the saucer as Lovino tightened his grip on the handle. He spoke through gritted teeth, his earlier despondency replaced by sudden anger.

“Gilbert?” Antonio asked carefully as he studied the shorter boy sitting opposite to him. 

The Spaniard’s brows creased into a small frown as he tried to figure out how everything fit into the bigger picture. He had considered the possibility that Gilbert was using Lovino’s brother to blackmail him, but the auburn-haired boy seemed to be implying that his brother had a more active role to play in the conflict. That would have explained why the pale, amber-haired boy was so affected and why Lovino was clearly more worried about his brother than himself. 

Gilbert must have been one of the ‘assholes’ that the auburn-haired boy had referred to, but the plural clearly meant that he wasn’t the first person who had hurt his brother. And what did someone as innocent-looking as Lovino’s brother have to do with a troublemaker like Gilbert in the first place? Antonio felt a sense of uneasiness at the thought, but decided not to ask Lovino about it. 

“I punched him”, Lovino said in a rough voice, causing the Spaniard to break out of his thoughts.

The auburn-haired boy faced Antonio properly for the first time since they had met up on the courtyard. The look in his eyes was dark under his creased brows, filled with the kind of ferocity that reminded Antonio of a cornered animal preparing for its last fight. 

“I wanted to make him pay for what he did, but now Feli’s getting hurt again.” 

Lovino’s look dropped back to the coffee cup in front of him, and suddenly the anger that had made his voice tremble deflated, replaced by the earlier sullenness. 

“It’s my fault.”

The hopelessness in the other boy’s voice filled Antonio with an overwhelming urge to help him.

_But what can you actually do for him?_

The Spaniard felt a gnawing sense of frustration at the thought that even after Lovino’s explanation, he didn’t seem to be any closer to figuring out how he could help the auburn-haired boy. 

Antonio forced himself to push the frustration to a far corner at the back of his mind as he leaned forward in his chair and fixed his eyes at the boy sitting opposite to him. He might have not known how to offer any concrete solution to the other boy’s problem, but the Spaniard didn’t feel like it was fair that Lovino was blaming himself for a problem that seemed to involve components over which he had no control and parties which were much more guilty than he was.  

“It’s not your fault”, he said, loading his words with as much conviction as possible. “You know that I don’t think violence is a good solution, but Gilbert was hurting your brother already before you punched him. And now he’s hurting you too.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this”, Lovino muttered quietly after silently considering his words for a moment, his voice almost drowned out by the chattering of the people around them. Under his auburn bangs, his eyebrows were creased in a small frown, his hands fidgeting with his coffee cup again.

“Doing what?” Antonio asked, tilting his head slightly at the shorter boy.

The Spaniard remembered Lovino asking something similar before, when he’d taken him to his place to get his battered face cleaned up. That time, he had truthfully told him that he was helping him because he wanted to, but he had got the feeling that his answer had only further confused the other boy.

“Acting like you care so much? It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”

Antonio looked at the auburn-haired boy, taken aback by the bluntness of his words even though the response had been close to what he’d been expecting to hear. Regardless of the bluntness, Lovino’s voice was strained and strangely brittle, as if it was on the verge of cracking. He didn’t meet the Spaniard’s look, instead keeping his eyes fixed at the coffee cup in front of him, yet showing no interest in actually drinking from it.

Antonio swallowed, suddenly unsure as to how he should respond. It was true that he couldn’t really say he was friends with Lovino, who hadn’t seemed to want anything to do with him until the day before, and who clearly looked uncomfortable talking to him. For already the second time, the Spaniard felt surprised at how much the thought hurt him, even though there was no reason why Lovino would have considered them to be friends. He must have found him weird for wanting to help him seemingly out of nowhere, and it didn’t make it any better that Antonio couldn’t think of a way to explain himself without making it seem even weirder.

_He wanted to feel like he was for once doing what he felt was the right thing?_

That wouldn’t have only sounded weird, but it would have made it seem like Antonio was only using the other boy to boost his own sense of righteousness. Besides, while wanting to feel like he was doing the right thing might have been part of the reason why he wanted to help Lovino, the Spaniard felt like there was more to it than that - he felt like there was something about  _Lovino_  that made him unable to mind his own business like he’d used to do when he’d seen people get bullied before.

Antonio studied the slim figure of the boy sitting opposite to him, overgrown auburn bangs partly hiding his creased eyebrows and almost reaching his beautifully colored eyes. His chin and cheekbones were quite delicately shaped, his nose pointy and speckled with some light brown freckles that the Spaniard hadn’t noticed before, probably because they were almost hidden by his tan skin tone. Antonio couldn’t help but to wonder what he would have looked like if the pain and tiredness on his face were replaced by a genuine smile that lit up his eyes and made them sparkle.

The Spaniard was sure that the sight would have been captivating, and he found himself hoping that he would one day have the chance to see it.

Lovino finally lifted his look to glance at the Spaniard, only to quickly turn his head to the side to avoid facing him. 

“Why are you staring?” the auburn-haired boy asked, the frown on his face deepening as he kept avoiding Antonio’s look.

“Sorry”, Antonio said quickly as a small smile formed on his lips. 

_That’s the reason._

_That’s the reason why you couldn’t leave him alone and mind your own business like you usually do._

Since the first moment that Antonio had talked to him, Lovino had gone against basically every rule that the Spaniard’s parents had taught him about manners and what was considered to be appropriate social conduct: He kept his hood on in class, he didn’t care about coming off blunt or rude when he spoke and he seemed to have a tendency to get into situations where he either punched people or got punched himself. Even though Antonio couldn’t say he agreed with everything he did, he realized that the reason why he felt so drawn to the auburn-haired boy was the fact that he didn’t possess even a hint of that shallow pretentiousness that he had grown so used to and so sick of.

The way he didn’t try to smile politely when he didn’t actually feel like smiling, the way he had defended his brother without worrying about the consequences and the way he didn’t seem to regret it even now that he was facing those consequences were all things that made Lovino more honest and more sincere than most people Antonio had known up until now. He was so far from Antonio’s parents’ idea of what was acceptable, and yet the Spaniard felt like the sincerity that his actions spoke of was much more valuable than those calculated words and faked smiles that he had learned to connect to what it meant to be an admirable person.

“Well, maybe I would like to be your friend”, Antonio finally said, surprised by the confidence in his own voice.

However, as he watched Lovino’s earlier so lifeless eyes widen in amazement at his words, he didn’t doubt for a second that he meant them from the bottom of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> I know I used to update this story once a week before, but from now on I will be updating less frequently since I'm running out of the ready chapters that I had in store. I'm not completely happy with how some of the earlier chapters turned out, so I will probably publish an improved version of this story once I'm finished writing it. I plan to keep updating this version as I write it though, since I'm hoping to receive some feedback for motivation and tips for what I should improve in my writing.
> 
> That being said, please don't hesitate to point out if you feel like there's something that I could be doing better, or if there's something that you think I'm doing a particularly good job with!


	13. Friends

Sitting in English class on Monday afternoon, Lovino found his eyes constantly drifting to a certain head of wavy brown hair in the center of the room.

Even though it had been two days since the Italian had gone to meet Antonio at the mall, he couldn't get the conversation they'd had off of his mind. Each time he thought of the things he'd said, Lovino was left in a minor state of shock at the fact that _he'd actually said all those things out loud_ in front of someone who was practically a stranger to him.

_A stranger?_

_Is that really what he is to you?_

Lovino's brows creased in exasperation as he continued to stare at the brunet sitting several rows ahead of him, focusing on whatever the teacher was saying like the good student he was.

Given the fact that the Italian had only talked to him a couple of times and that all he knew about his background was that he had recently moved from Chicago, 'stranger' should have been the sensible thing to call Antonio. However, sensible or not, somehow the brunet had become much more than a stranger to Lovino since the moment the Italian had let him to take him to his place during their first encounter: He had become the person Lovino thought of when he felt like everything was becoming too much for him to handle; he had become the person who had broken his resolve to never rely on anyone else but himself.

Lovino's look fell from Antonio's head to his shoulders and finally to the back of his plastic chair as his thoughts returned to Friday morning- the morning of the day when he had reached out to someone for help for the first time since he had been nine years old.

_Lovino looked at the time displayed on the microwave screen, frowning slightly as he noted that it was way past the time Feliciano usually went to the bathroom to get ready for school, and yet he still hadn't even come out from his room. It wouldn't have been the first time his brother had forgot to charge his phone or slept through his alarm, but Lovino couldn't help it that when he walked to his brother's bedroom door and gave it a careful knock, he felt a cold sense of dread settle at the bottom of his stomach._

_It must have been because of his growing concern for Feliciano, but there was no sensible reason for him to over-react like that, Lovino tried to convince himself as he knocked more firmly on the door in front of him. What could have possibly happened to his brother in the safety of his bedroom, anyway?_

_The thought had been supposed to reassure him, but the images that immediately flooded the Italian's mind only caused the dread to reach the level of outright panic, making him push the door open without any further thought._

_The sight of his brother's all too skinny figure curled up on the bed, amber hair spread out on the white sheets like a halo and pillow hugged close to his chest by two unmoving arms was way too close to the images that Lovino had just seen in his mind, making him momentarily freeze in his tracks as all air escaped his lungs. For a few excruciatingly long seconds, Lovino simply stood there, frozen still as the sheer terror wiped every rational thought off his mind, leaving him unable to do anything but stare at his brother, whose skin looked unnaturally white under the bright rays of sunlight that shone through the gap between the closed curtains._

_Then one of the pale hands resting next to the edge of the bed moved slightly, as if the younger Italian could sense his brother's presence in his room even while asleep. The cold terror in Lovino's veins instantly melted away, replaced by a wave of relief that almost made his legs give out under him, forcing him to reach out to hold onto the doorframe._

Even now, the memory sent a chill down Lovino's spine, because even though his fear had proved to be in vain, he couldn't shake off the thought that what if the next time he rushed into his brother's room, he wouldn't wake up.

Desperate to get the particular memory and the accompanying sense of apprehension off of his mind, the Italian let his eyes return to the head of brown hair three rows ahead of him.

 _"Well, maybe I would like to be your friend_ ", Antonio's voice echoed in the Italian's head, soft and gentle and bearing a sense of resolution that had left Lovino at a loss of suitable responses.

Having spent years watching Feliciano surround himself with people he called his friends, the word hardly meant much to Lovino. After all, those _friends_ had never done his brother any good besides letting him play his little game of pretend. Those friends had never seen more of Feliciano than his bright smiles and easy laughs; they'd never known him well enough or _cared_ enough to realize how much of that cheerful act was nothing but a façade to hide the fact that he was breaking apart on the inside. That was something only Lovino was crushingly aware of, for it was only Lovino who had to pick up the pieces every time some lousy bastard broke his heart; it was Lovino who now had to listen to him cry himself to sleep almost every night.

According to all sense, Lovino should have rolled his eyes at Antonio's words and told him to stop playing games with him and tell him what he really wanted. His sense of reason kept reminding him of the fact that he knew basically nothing about Antonio, he'd only talked to him a couple of times before last Saturday and he still didn't understand why he was so keen to help him.

However, as embarrassing as it was to admit it to himself, Lovino wanted to believe Antonio's words and actions that just felt too sincere to be nothing but a game, he wanted to trust him regardless of his usual reluctance to trust people, and he couldn't help it that the prospect of not having to deal with everything alone was getting more and more difficult to push away. He couldn't help it that even though he found it hard to believe that he'd really told Antonio about what had happened with Gilbert and how scared he felt for his brother's sake, he didn't feel regret for saying any of those things. In fact, somehow saying those things aloud had managed to lift a tiny bit of the burden off his chest, even if he wasn't any closer to fixing any of his problems than he'd been before.

Lovino forced himself to drop his look to the empty surface of the desk in front of him as he willed himself to get the brunet off of his mind even for a moment. Maybe he really should start paying attention in class or else he might actually fail his courses, the Italian thought as he stared absent-mindedly at the inappropriate shape carved on the surface of his desk.

With the incident with Gilbert taking place right before his end of term exams, Lovino had come close to failing both math and physics last semester. It wasn't like his grades had ever been anything to flaunt about - Feliciano had always been the good student out of the two of them, much like he'd always outshined him in art - but even without much effort, Lovino had usually managed to pull through without having to worry about failing.

Well, Lovino thought while frowning slightly at the clumsy carving, at least he had been saved the trouble of having to decide which level courses he wanted to take in his final year, since he could only quality for the lowest level in most subjects.

"For this project" the teacher announced at the front of the class, causing Lovino to finally focus his attention on her. "I would like you to pair up with a fellow student."

"Teacher, would you mind if we...", the boy sitting next to Antonio started, waving his hand around lazily to get the teacher's attention.

"No groups of three, Mr. Jordan", the teacher said pointedly, as if she had been expecting to hear the particular question. "I'm afraid one of you has to find someone else to work with."

"It's okay, guys, I don't mind."

Lovino's look snapped back from the middle-aged woman in front of the class to the head of brown hair he'd been staring at for most of the lesson.

"Thank you, Mr. Carriedo", the teacher said with a hint of pleased surprise in her usually strict voice.

However, the Italian barely heard her, too busy watching as Antonio stood up from his seat, grabbed his laptop and turned around, his eyes instantly finding Lovino.

The brunet was wearing the same beige Bermuda shorts he had been wearing on Saturday and a white, rather snugly fitting Nike t-shirt that complimented both his athletic build and tan complexion. His wavy hair was tousled in a way that made it look like he had just been running by the sea without sweating a drop, and the effortlessly perfect image was completed by the easy smile playing on his lips.

It was only when Antonio had made his way to Lovino's desk and came to a halt in front of him that the Italian realized he'd been staring at him again. He quickly avoided his eyes, instead letting them skim over the rest of his classmates, who were all busy finding a partner to work with. All except for one: a set of purple-tinted eyes was observing the two of them from the far corner of the room from under platinum-blond bangs, effectively causing the Italian to snap out of his daze.

Gilbert was right there, just across the room, and everybody knew he had unfinished business with Lovino. Was Antonio deliberately looking for trouble? At the first glance, he looked like the least likely person to do that, but after all the times he'd refused to leave Lovino alone, the Italian felt like maybe he should start seriously reconsidering that impression.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Lovino said in a lowered voice, even though nobody else would have been able to catch his words through the chattering that had filled up the room the moment the teacher had told them to form pairs.

"What does it look like?" Antonio asked, raising one of his annoyingly perfect eyebrows at the Italian. "Want to pair up for the project?"

Lovino mentally shook his head to get his thoughts together. It didn't seem like he had much of a choice on that matter.

"Are you sure about this?" Lovino demanded, keeping his voice low as he forced himself to face the brunet. He tilted his head slightly to gesture at the platinum-haired guy sitting by the windows, taking his turn to raise both of his eyebrows at Antonio.

Antonio's eyes briefly followed the tilt of his head before he proceeded to grab a chair left vacant as everyone had rushed to sit next to their partner. He took a seat next to Lovino and placed his laptop on the desk in front of them before turning to smile at him.

"Of course."

There was something different about this smile compared to the previous one: it was smaller but somehow managed to make Lovino's chest feel strangely full, causing him to draw in a deep breath of air.

"Whatever", Lovino breathed out, half to himself and half to the boy sitting next to him, close enough for his leg to brush lightly against the Italian's.

It wasn't like the brunet had ever cared about his warnings before, so his lack of concern shouldn't have come as a surprise to Lovino, who was quickly losing his resolve to keep pushing Antonio away. If the brunet didn't care about getting into trouble, then who was Lovino to try to stop him? He had never been one to worry about anyone but himself and his brother, and he couldn't really see how the situation could get much worse for them at this point, whether Antonio got himself involved or not.

"I guess it's settled then", the brunet said, the smile never leaving his lips as he kept his eyes on the Italian next to him.

The combination of the smile and the proximity were quickly becoming too much for Lovino, who let his look fall to the laptop screen in front of him. It was only now that he became aware of the fact that he had no idea what the project they were supposed to work on was about, which suddenly made him feel embarrassed for not paying attention to the teacher's instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, any comments are greatly appreciated! :)


	14. Resemblance

“Feliciano? That cute second-year who’s friends with everyone?” Holly, a tall and lanky boy with spiky blond hair asked with a surprised raise of his eyebrows. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“You haven’t heard?” 

Antonio’s eyes shifted to Jordan Chen, who was sitting next to him on the track field, leaning back on his palms with his legs stretched out in front of him. His black hair was shaved short on the right side while the strands on the left were long enough to reach his ear and partly hide his eyebrow. His posture was relaxed, but the glint in his dark eyes revealed how much he enjoyed knowing more than the rest of them.

“Apparently”, the Chinese-American boy drawled out, inclining his head slightly as a small smirk made its way onto his lips. “He had something going on with Gilbert last year, if you know what I mean.”

“What?” Holly all but exclaimed, eyebrows rising impossibly high as he stared at the black-haired boy in incredulousness. “No way, man…”

“It seems you’re not the only guy who thinks he’s cute, and based on what I’ve heard”, Jordan continued, the smirk on his face getting wider at the blond’s reaction, “he knows how to use his pretty face to get what he wants.” 

The combination of Jordan’s words and the smirk on his face caused an unpleasant feeling to settle in at the bottom of Antonio’s stomach, making him feel like he was about to get sick. He turned his eyes away from the shorter black-haired boy, instead focusing them on the tall blond next to him.

As the Spaniard watched, the incredulous expression on Holly’s face slowly turned into a frown as he considered the other boy’s words. Then the blond let out a resigned sigh, letting his look fall to the rough surface of the track field next to his leg.

“But Gilbert?” Holly asked, shaking his head slowly, clearly reluctant to accept Jordan’s words as the truth. 

The black-haired boy with a lazy, almost cat-like posture shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Maybe he likes it rough.”

Antonio gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain quiet as the unpleasant feeling in his stomach turned into a surge of anger that burned through his whole body.

Based on the conflicted expression on Holly’s face, Antonio figured that the blond wasn’t fully convinced by Jordan’s theory. However, the spiky-haired boy only raised a questioning eyebrow at the Spaniard, not bothering to continue arguing with Jordan.

“You guys wanna hang out at the mall today?” Jordan asked after a moment of silence, letting his eyes lazily move from Holly and Antonio to the rest of the track team members who were still sitting around on the field.

“Sorry guys, I think I’ll be heading home early today”, Antonio found himself saying before he had properly even realized he’d opened his mouth.

It wasn’t rare that Antonio went home right after practice, so nobody was surprised when he got on his feet, waved them goodbye and headed to pick up his things from the locker room. However, as soon as the Spaniard turned his back to the other guys, the fake smile disappeared from his face.

Antonio recalled an image of how pale and skinny Lovino’s brother had looked the last time he’d seen him on the week before, standing in a hallway with a group of friends. Then the image switched to the scene he’d witnessed on the schoolyard the day before that: The same amber-haired boy sitting on the ledge of the fountain with his face buried in his hands and shoulders rising and falling erratically while Lovino leaned over him, face hidden behind auburn strands of hair.

The memory caused Antonio’s chest to feel tight with worry.

_“He always gets hurt. There’s always some asshole who hurts him.”_

The Spaniard thought of the way Lovino’s face muscled had tensed when he’d spoken those words through gritted teeth, his earlier tiredness replaced by sudden anger. Then he thought of the dark, hopeless look in those beautiful amber eyes, and how brittle his voice had sounded when he’d admitted that he was scared for his brother’s sake.

_“It seems you’re not the only guy who thinks he’s cute, and based on what I’ve heard, he knows how to use his pretty face to get what he wants.”_

The Spaniard gripped the handle of the locker room door with an unnecessary amount of force as Jordan’s words echoed in his mind.

Jordan Chen was a great example of the kind of kid that Antonio’s parents wanted him to hang out with: He had won the 400-meter race in the National finals last year, his father was the head of a Chinese bank in Miami and his mother was a renowned neurosurgeon in a private hospital. However, he was also a great example of the kind of kid who was used to getting everything he wanted and who looked down on everyone who was less accomplished and whose parents weren’t as rich as his.

Since basically all the private schools that Antonio had attended before had been full of kids like Jordan, he had learned how to deal with his attitude and he usually even managed to filter out the most offensive things he said about other people. However, this time the Spaniard had struggled to remain quiet when Jordan had spoken about Lovino’s brother in such a degrading manner. 

Antonio didn’t know what exactly Feliciano was involved in, but he couldn’t imagine him intentionally going after someone like Gilbert. There had to be a better explanation for what was going on with Lovino’s brother, and what exactly Lovino had meant when he’d said that there was always someone who hurt him. 

For a brief moment, Antonio considered asking Lovino about it, but he abandoned the idea almost as soon as it had crossed his mind. He didn’t want to upset Lovino by digging too much into a sensitive topic, not when he had just agreed to pair up with him for the group project and when he felt like he had got at least a little closer to gaining his trust.

xxx

“Hey”, Antonio greeted the auburn-haired boy as he reached the table, holding up two cups of coffee in his hands. “Sorry I made you wait, I stopped by in the cafeteria to get us some coffee.”

The Spaniard placed one of the cups next to Lovino, then proceeded to take a seat next to him.

The other boy eyed the cup for a moment with a small, slightly perplexed frown.

“Thanks”, he finally said, giving Antonio a small nod of his head. 

Somehow the fact alone that Lovino had accepted the coffee brought a happy smile to Antonio’s lips.

“You’re welcome”, the Spaniard said as he studied the shorter boy sitting next to him for a while longer.

For the first time since Antonio had met him, Lovino wasn’t wearing one of his pullovers. Instead, he was dressed in a loosely fitting denim jacket and a red t-shirt that clashed with his auburn hair. While the signs of tiredness were still visible on his face, the Spaniard was happy to note that his skin tone looked a little healthier and the look in his eyes wasn’t as desolate as it had been on the previous Saturday.

“What?” Lovino asked, avoiding the Spaniard’s look with his brows creased in his signature frown. 

“Nothing”, Antonio said, unable to stop a smile from forming on his lips at Lovino’s expression. There was just something strangely endearing about the fight between annoyance and embarrassment that took place on his face every time he avoided the Spaniard’s eyes.

However, not wanting to make the other boy too uncomfortable no matter how endearing the expression on his face was, Antonio shifted his attention to his outfit again. It was refreshing to see him wear something else than one of his pullovers for a change, and he couldn’t help but to note that Lovino looked good in denim.

“I like your jacket”, the Spaniard said, the smile still lingering on his lips as he turned to get his laptop from his backpack.

It was often that when Antonio paired up with someone for a group project, his partner expected him to take the lead and do most of the work. That had been the case since elementary school, and most of the time the Spaniard didn’t really mind: after all, it was the easiest way to make sure that the work met his standards and granted him the top grade, even if it went against the whole idea of group projects. By now, Antonio had got so used to having his fellow students free-ride on his efforts that when Lovino showed him the notes he’d prepared for the assignment - a literary analysis on Ralph Angel’s “Even Before” - he was momentarily caught by surprise.

Considering the way the auburn-haired boy raised his eyebrows at him, the surprise must have shown on the Spaniard’s face. He quickly assumed a more neutral expression before turning to read the notes that Lovino had presented him with. 

“Well?” the auburn-haired boy demanded as soon as Antonio’s eyes left the laptop screen. 

His brows were creased in a small frown as his eyes shifted between the Spaniard and the laptop screen. “What do you think?”

Antonio recognized the other boy’s guarded tone form multiple occasions before, but this time, the Spaniard realized, it wasn’t because he distrusted him. Instead, it was insecurity that was responsible for the strain in his voice and the crease between his eyebrows.

“You picked up a few things that I didn’t think of myself”, Antonio said as he returned his look to the laptop screen to go over Lovino’s notes again. 

It was true that the other boy had paid attention to some things that the Spaniard hadn’t thought of himself, like how mentions of color and light were used to depict different emotions, even if he hadn’t gone into as much detail in some other aspects. It was clear that he had put effort into his analysis, but from the way he was clearly nervous to hear Antonio’s opinion on his work, the Spaniard could tell that he was doubting himself. 

“If we combine your thoughts with what I came up with, I think we’re off to a pretty good start”, Antonio said as he turned back to the auburn-haired boy with a smile on his face.

Lovino studied him for a few seconds as if trying to determine whether he was being honest with him, then released the breath the Spaniard hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Antonio didn’t like how insecure Lovino clearly was about his work, but the fact that he had actually put in the effort to contribute to the group project filled the Spaniard’s chest with a pleasant sense of warmth.

After working on the analysis for almost two hours, the two of them had managed to put their ideas in the form of a proper essay draft.

“I think we should maybe wrap it up for today”, Antonio said after reading through the paragraph he’d just written on the way the poem created a sense of passing time and lack of permanency. 

At the Spaniard’s words, Lovino’s hand reached out to grab his phone from the table in front of him. As Antonio watched, he stared at the screen for a few seconds, then placed it back on the table and relaxed back against his chair.

“It’s almost six. I told Feli to come here after his art class.”

“How’s he doing?” Antonio asked carefully, briefly glancing at Lovino to get a look at his expression without being too obvious. 

Lovino was quiet for a moment, brows creased in a frown that was this time more thoughtful than troubled. 

“Doing art...”, the auburn-haired boy finally started, eyes fixed at the surface of the table in front of him as his brows remained creased in thought.

“...It always makes him seem... more like himself. More like how he used to be before.”

Lovino raised his look from the table, his eyes finding Antonio’s for a rare moment that was much longer than the quick glances he usually gave him. His earlier frown was replaced by what was the closest thing to a smile that the Spaniard had seen on his face so far. However, it was hardly the kind of happy smile that Antonio hoped to see on his face one day, and the way his amber eyes were dark with emotion made him feel like all the air had suddenly escaped his lungs.

“That’s good to hear”, the Spaniard said softly, eyes still fixed at the other boy even as his chest constricted painfully at the variety of emotions in his eyes.

It was Lovino who broke the eye contact, letting his look fall back to the surface of the table again. He nodded his head in acknowledgment at Antonio’s words, causing a strand of auburn hair to fall on his face.

The Spaniard stared at the strand of hair hanging over the other boy’s forehead, where it reached the bridge of his delicately shaped nose that was so often scrunched up in a frown. Even now that he was no longer faced with those dark amber eyes, Antonio felt a strange tightness in his chest, a tightness that he had lately learned to connect to Lovino and the worry he felt for him. However, while that feeling had before been caused by not knowing what he could do to help the other boy, this time it was something simpler and yet somehow even more overwhelming: it was the sudden urge to reach out with his hand and brush the strand of hair off of Lovino’s face; to find out if his hair really was as soft as it looked.

And yet, even though the other boy was sitting right next to him, Antonio knew that he couldn’t just do something like that out of nowhere without a proper explanation. He knew that there was a certain social etiquette that he had to follow, and while that normally didn’t pose him any problems, it was now making him feel like he had suddenly lost the ability to breathe.

“Antonio?”

The Spaniard snapped out of his momentary state of trance, finding himself faced with Lovino, who was looking at him from under a pair of creased eyebrows while waving the phone he was holding in his hand. 

“Feli’s coming now”, the auburn-haired boy said, gesturing towards the entrance of the study hall with his phone while bringing his free hand to push the stray strand of hair off of his face.

His distraction now gone, Antonio turned his eyes to the entrance, just in time to see Lovino’s brother walk in through the wooden double doors.

Feliciano was dressed in a loosely fitting, cream-colored button-down shirt and light blue skinny jeans that were slightly ripped around the knees and the thighs. Surrounded by tall, wooden bookshelves and dark brown and burgundy furniture, he looked even thinner and paler than when Antonio had last seen him. However, the way he walked with short but quick steps as if he was about to break into a run and the way he was smiling as he waved at his brother made Antonio understand what Lovino had meant with what he’d said earlier.

“Fratello!” The amber-haired boy said in a cheerful tone as he embraced his brother, who’d barely had time to stand up from his chair.

“And you’re Antonio! You’re really popular, you know, everybody’s been talking about you since you came here. I’m Feliciano, nice to meet you!”

Feliciano said all of that without stopping to breathe as he turned his attention to the Spaniard, eagerly offering him his hand.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Antonio took the younger boy’s hand and shook it while taking in his appearance from up close.

When it came to facial features, the resemblance between the two brothers was astonishing: Feliciano had the same delicate nose, curved lips and large amber eyes as Lovino, and even the amber hair framing his face was approximately the same length as his brother’s. The most notable differences were his much lighter skin tone, the absence of freckles on his nose and the way his cheekbones were more visible due to how thin he was. However, even though he would have looked healthier if his skin was a little darker and his cheeks a little rounder, there was no denying the fact that Feliciano was attractive. 

_“...And based on what I’ve heard, he knows how to use his pretty face to get what he wants.”_

Jordan’s words form the day before echoed in Antonio’s head again, making him feel a familiar burn of anger in his chest. Usually, he might have been able to ignore the distasteful things that Jordan said about people, but that was simply because whatever those people were involved in was none of Antonio’s business. However, this was  _Lovino’s brother_ , and Antonio didn’t believe for a second that the boy standing in front of him would have  _wanted_ anything from someone like Gilbert.

“Nice to meet you too, Feliciano”, Antonio said with a smile, forcing Jordan’s words to a far corner of his mind, along with the burn of anger that they evoked in him. 

The smile on the younger boy’s lips reached his bright amber eyes, making it hard for Antonio to believe that he was looking at the same boy he’d seen crying in the middle of the schoolyard only a week ago.

The sight caused a sudden realization to hit Antonio’s mind:

If the reason why he felt so drawn to Lovino was because of how honest he was about his feelings, his brother seemed to have more in common with Antonio than the Spaniard could have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> College is keeping me busy so I'm only now writing chapter 15, but I do have a pretty clear idea for where the story will go from here. I hope you're looking forward to finding out what will happen next, and until then, please don't hesitate to leave me a comment! Any feedback, thoughts or speculations are always more than welcome!


	15. Understanding

"You think if you beat up the team captain they're gonna let you back on the team?"

Antonio's steps came to a halt as an angry voice reached his ears from around the corner of the arts building. He easily recognized the German accent, but the voice didn't quite sound like Gilbert's - it was lower than Gilbert's and did not possess the same dangerous undertone despite the obvious anger.

"That's none of your fucking business", a second voice retorted in an angry growl.

The second voice definitely belonged to Gilbert, but Antonio had never heard him sound so angry before - not smug or spiteful like usual, but simply _angry_ at whoever it was that he was talking to.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Antonio changed his course to take a few steps towards the voices. Not wanting to look suspicious, he slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone as if he'd just remembered he had to text somebody.

"If you keep hurting people like this, there's gonna be a day when our parents money can't save you from trouble anymore."

The first voice warned, slow and controlled but strained with anger. Antonio carefully looked past the corner to see the speaker, just in time to see Gilbert grab him by the front of his shirt.

The guy was as tall as Gilbert, but his build was even more muscular, like a professional wrestler's. His blond hair was trimmed short and he was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and basketball shorts, with a sports bag slung over his shoulder.

Antonio could see the way Gilbert's purple-tinted eyes narrowed as he maintained his grip on the muscular blond's shirt, his free hand remained clenched by his side. Even from where he stood, Antonio could feel the tension build up between the two until Gilbert finally shoved the other guy backwards and stormed off to the parking lot without another word.

Antonio watched as the tall blond regained his balance but made no effort to go after Gilbert. Instead, he simply stood in his spot by the corner, back still turned to Antonio as he watched the platinum-haired guy's retreat.

_"Our parents"?_

Antonio's brows creased into a frown as the blond's words finally sunk in.

_Gilbert has a brother?_

Considering how the two clearly didn't get along, the Spaniard figured it wasn't really a wonder that he'd never seen them together at school. However, suddenly finding out that Gilbert had a brother who went to the same school as them reminded Antonio about just how little he knew about what was going on around him.

That had always been the downside of moving around and switching schools so often, but this was the first time in years that Antonio felt so bothered by how little he knew about his classmates. He figured that it must have been because this was the first time he was involved with anyone beyond the usual level of casual small-talk, so being reminded of just how much of an outsider he was made him feel a painful sting in his heart.

Trying to ignore the sting, the Spaniard finally took his eyes off of Gilbert's brother and continued his way to the entrance of the building. He really needed to get that book for his AP biology extra readings from the library, and standing there thinking about what he'd just witnessed wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Antonio quickly made his way through the entrance and up the staircase onto the second floor. The corridors were mostly empty, which wasn't surprising as the break had ended a while ago and only students who had a free period like Antonio were not in class. The Spaniard was halfway down the corridor leading to the library when his attention was suddenly caught by a door that was slightly ajar.

Antonio slowed down his pace as he reached the particular door, close enough to read the class schedule next to it on the wall. It was a visual arts classroom, the Spaniard noted, and it was supposed to be empty at the moment. However, that didn't seem to be the case, as the door wasn't closed and the lights inside were on.

The Spaniard remained standing outside the door for a moment, his brows once again creasing into a small frown. Why did he feel like he was sneaking around and sticking his nose into other people's business again, right after listening in on an argument between Gilbert and his brother?

Antonio mentally shook his head at his recent inability to mind his own business, but proceeded to push the door open anyway.

The room looked like any of the art classrooms that Antonio had been to in his previous schools, with empty working stations and open shelves full of art supplies filling out most of the space. Or at least most of the working stations were empty, the Spaniard noted after registering movement at the back of the room next to one of the tall windows.

Somebody was working on a painting that was propped up on a large easel, which hid the person almost completely from Antonio's view. However, even though he could only see the person's legs, the Spaniard instantly recognized the light blue skinny jeans that he was wearing.

 _Feliciano_.

Antonio thought back to the day before and the strange feeling he'd had when he'd properly met Lovino's brother for the first time. The way the smile on the younger boy's face had looked so natural and how he'd had such a carefree air to him had made the Spaniard feel a startling sense of recognition, as if he'd been looking at a mirror-image of himself.

Even now, just the memory of that feeling was enough to make Antonio freeze still, hand lingering on the door handle as he considered his options. He reminded himself that he was supposed to spend his free period doing his

extra readings on cell biology in the library. However, the Spaniard couldn't ignore the feeling that he might have understood what Lovino's brother was going through better than he could have imagined just a few days ago.

Antonio might have not known anything about Lovino and Feliciano's past, but he had recognized the smile on Feliciano's face on the day before: it had looked so bright and so natural that the Spaniard would have never doubted it to be anything but genuine had he not known how worried Lovino was about his brother.

Looking at that easy smile and bright amber eyes had made Antonio's chest feel strangely hollow, reminding him of the thoughts that always seemed to come back to him when he failed to keep himself busy enough with schoolwork and track practice.

Sometimes the Spaniard felt like he was so used to being the polite and friendly Antonio Carriedo that he wasn't sure if there was anything more to him than that, anything deeper or more personal than the cheerful smiles that came so naturally from him that even he couldn't have called them fake. He knew he had everything he could have hoped for from material luxuries to a promising future, but yet when he stopped to think about it, he felt like there was something very essential that he was missing: he felt like he had lost the part of him that would have made him feel like he had a purpose of his own; like he was doing more than just following the path his parents had laid out for him.

Antonio spent a few more seconds standing in the corridor, lost in thought as he rested his hand on the door handle. Then he finally stepped in through the doorway and entered the room, which was almost unnervingly quiet compared to the usually so noisy high school. As he slowly made his way towards the back of the room, Antonio realized that Feliciano was so focused on his painting that he hadn't even noticed the Spaniard's presence.

Trying his best to not startle the other boy, Antonio came to a halt a few working stations away from him.

"Hey, Feliciano."

From where he stood, Antonio could see Feliciano's profile as he flinched at his voice, almost dropping the paintbrush that he had been about to rinse in a cup of water.

Antonio mentally scolded himself for startling the younger boy even though he'd tried not to.

"It's okay. It's just me, Antonio", he said quickly as Feliciano turned to face him with wide, frightened eyes.

The younger boy remained looking at him for a few seconds longer before blinking his eyes and taking in a shaky breath. The look of fear in his eyes stung at Antonio's heart, causing Gilbert's face to appear in his mind along with a familiar burn of anger.

Since he was young, Antonio had been taught that it was everybody's own responsibility to take care of themselves and that he wasn't supposed to concern himself with other people's problems. The Spaniard had encountered plenty of people who had a tendency to look for trouble, and in those cases what his parents had taught him had seemed reasonable enough. However, Antonio also knew that sometimes people just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was difficult for him to believe that they _deserved_ whatever predicament came their way.

 _Feliciano doesn't deserve this,_ Antonio thought as he looked at the young boy sitting behind his working station, still looking a little shaken by the Spaniard's sudden appearance.

"Hey, Antonio", Feliciano said as a smile quickly appeared on his lips. However, this smile was much less convincing than the one Antonio had seen on his face on the day before, making it obvious that he had been caught off guard.

Antonio gave the other boy a small smile in return, willing himself to keep his inner turmoil under control.

"Can I see what you're painting?" he asked as he made his way to Feliciano's working station, curious to get a glimpse of his work.

The amber-haired boy's look shifted from Antonio to the painting in front of him and then back to Antonio again. The hesitation on his face reminded the Spaniard of how Lovino had been insecure about showing him his notes for their group project on the day before. However, the way the younger boy drew in his shoulders protectively and clutched the paintbrush in his hands made Antonio feel like there might have been more to his hesitation than simply insecurity.

However, after a few seconds of consideration, Feliciano finally nodded his head at the Spaniard.

The painting was about three feet tall and two feet wide, depicting a naked, kneeling boy in the middle of what appeared to be a sea of crimson and purple flowers – no, flower petals – that reached until the middle of his back. More flower petals were scattered across the boy's pale skin, their shape fine and delicate much like the boy himself. The sea of flowers stretched around him until it faded into a horizon of darkness, the pale, almost luminous skin of the boy the only source of light in the whole scene.

The first thought that crossed Antonio's mind when he looked at the painting was that _Feliciano is a talented artist._ Even though the younger boy was still working on the details of the flower petals on the background, the shading of the boy's back and shoulders and the slight variations in the brown colour of his hair were impressively realistic, much like the petals that lay on his pale skin. However, the longer he kept admiring the younger boy's detailed work, the more Antonio noticed how _dark_ the painting actually was, not only because of the lack of light but the feeling that it evoked in him:

A feeling that reminded him of all those nights when he'd woken up to a nightmare in the middle of the night as a kid, desperately trying to get air into his burning lungs while fighting the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. He remembered how scared, lost and alone he'd felt in his dark bedroom, and how he'd wondered if he would ever truly become the charming and self-confident person that he was around other people; if he would ever truly become the son that his parents could be proud of.

The memory caused Antonio's chest to feel painfully hollow as he kept starting at the beautiful yet dark painting.

The crimson and purple petals scattered on the boy's naked back stood out from his light skin tone, beautiful yet somehow intrusive at the same time. His posture was sagged and still as if he had been kneeling there for an indefinite amount of time, lacking the strength or willpower to stand up and look for a way out from the darkness. Or maybe time didn't exist in the painting at all, Antonio thought as he kept staring at the small, vulnerable-looking boy who was alone in the darkness. Maybe the sea of flower petals was like the hollow feeling in his chest and the kneeling boy had succumbed to it; lost his hope and sense of purpose until nothing but darkness remained.

"Antonio?" Feliciano asked uncertainly, causing Antonio to snap out of his momentary trance and turn his attention to the boy next to him.

The younger boy was studying him with the tiniest hint of a frown forming a crease between his eyebrows. When the Spaniard met his large amber eyes that were so similar to Lovino's, he could properly see the depth in them for the first time. It wasn't the same wary and guarded look that he'd seen in Lovino's eyes so many times, but instead it reminded Antonio of the painting he was working on: It was the look of someone who was lost and alone, unable to find his way out of the darkness inside of him.

"You have talent, Feliciano", he said, giving the amber-haired boy a small smile even as the look in his eyes made his chest constrict painfully.

The younger boy blinked his eyes in surprise, clearly caught off guard by the sudden compliment. Then the crease reappeared between his eyebrows as he continued to study Antonio for a while longer, as if he was only now properly seeing him for the first time.

The Spaniard could see the understanding in Feliciano's eyes before a small smile slowly made its way onto his lips.

"Thank you", the amber-haired boy said quietly, finally dropping his look to his lap, where he was still fiddling with the paintbrush he was holding in his hands.

"I'm sorry for startling you earlier", Antonio said after a moment of silence, offering Feliciano an apologetic smile.

The younger boy shook his head slowly before briefly glancing up at the Spaniard.

"It's fine. I just thought you were…"

_Gilbert._

Antonio nodded his head to signal that he understood. In his mind, he could see a picture of the platinum-haired guy as he narrowed his purple-tinted eyes in anger before shoving his brother backwards and storming off. For a moment, Antonio found himself wondering what exactly was going on between Gilbert and his brother, but he quickly forced himself to push the thought off of his mind for now.

As he looked at the younger boy sitting next to him, eyes fixed down in thought, a sudden idea surfaced in the Spaniard's mind.

"Hey, Feliciano", he started, successfully capturing the younger boy's attention. "How would you feel about joining me and your brother at my place this weekend? We could all hang out together after we finish the school project we're working on."

Feliciano's eyes widened in surprise again, and the Spaniard could see a look of uncertainty in the younger boy's eyes as he looked up at him. It reminded him of the way Lovino had studied him on the day before, trying to determine if he really meant what he'd said about his ideas for the group project. Then the younger boy's lips slowly spread into a genuine smile that was bright enough to light up his whole face.

"I'd love that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much enjoy writing Antonio and Feliciano's interaction, so I hope this chapter was a pleasure to read as well! 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's been reading my story so far, especially those who've left me comments or kudos. Knowing that there are people out there who enjoy my story always makes me feel honored!
> 
> Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it and Happy New Year 2019!


	16. Hope

Feliciano stood in his room, studying his reflection in the full-body mirror in front of him. He was wearing dark blue jeans and one of his favorite shirts, which was a silky, cream-colored button-down with bell-shaped sleeves. It fit him loosely without looking like it was too large on him or making it obvious that he was too skinny.

The young Italian smoothed down a strand of amber hair that was sticking out, watching how his sleeve moved elegantly along with his hand. It wasn't often that he could look in a mirror without instantly being hit by a flood of self-depreciating thoughts, but today he felt unusually comfortable looking at his reflection.

In fact, Feliciano had felt unusually good since the morning, when he had woken up to the golden rays of sunlight that shone in through the window blinds. It must have looked the same every morning, but it was as if the grey veil that had been covering his eyes for weeks had finally been lifted off, allowing him to appreciate how beautiful the sight was.

It had also made the young Italian realize how much of a mess his room had become during the past three weeks. The floor was littered with random pieces of clothing that he'd discarded there after a look in the mirror, searching for something that wouldn't make him look so skinny or so pale or so much like the broken mess that he was. Dust floated in the air above the chaos of scattered clothes and other items that Feliciano hadn't bothered to tidy up, exposed by the bright rays of sunlight.

As his eyes had wandered around the brightly lit room around him, Feliciano had felt a little shocked at the fact that he'd let his room end up in such an unsightly state. For the first time in three weeks, the young Italian had found the energy to sort out his things and return them to their rightful places in the closet, after which he had thoroughly vacuumed the exposed floor space and opened the window to let in some fresh air.

Feliciano felt satisfied as he looked around himself in the now tidy room, breathing in the fresh air that flowed in from the opened window. He could still feel the pleasant buzz of newfound energy in his system as he thought of the reason for his unusually good mood.

He thought of how Antonio Carriedo, the new transfer student who was working on a group project with Lovino, had appeared in the arts classroom when he had been working on his painting alone. At first, Feliciano had been startled by his sudden appearance, but when the older boy had asked to see what he was painting, he had quickly been filled with a completely different kind of fear: the fear of showing someone an illustration of all the dark and ugly feelings that were eating at him on the inside. He remembered how bare and vulnerable he'd felt when he'd silently waited for Antonio to say something, fearing what he would think of him after seeing such a personal piece of work.

However, his fear had eventually turned into confusion when the silence had stretched on and the older boy had simply stood frozen in front of his painting. Something about the way the brunet had stared at the painting as if he'd been in a trance had caused Feliciano to call out his name in concern.

Feliciano had feared that Antonio would look at him with distaste, but when the brunet had finally turned away from the painting and faced him, the look in his dazzling emerald eyes had been full something completely unexpected:

_Understanding._

Antonio had looked at an illustration of Feliciano's darkest and ugliest feelings and instead of looking uncomfortable or put off, the older boy had looked like he _understood_.

"Come on, Feli! We're gonna be late!" Lovino's voice called out, causing Feliciano to snap out of his thoughts.

" _Si, si, Fratello_!" The young Italian called out in reply.

Feliciano turned to grab his sketchbook and pencil case from his desk and stuffed them in his backpack along with his wallet. After leaning over his desk to close the window that he had opened earlier, the young Italian made his way to the door, only stopping to give cast a final glance at his reflection in the mirror.

xxx

As Feliciano and Lovino got off the bus at the same stop as when they went to school, the young Italian couldn't help but to feel butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing Antonio again.

 _And not only seeing him but going to his house_ , he reminded himself, still finding it a little hard to believe that the older boy had actually invited him to join him at his place with Lovino.

Antonio had only transferred to their school three weeks ago, but he was already one of the most popular kids at school. It wasn't a wonder considering his good looks and how he had already beaten the track team's 100 and 200-meter records according to the rumors that had reached everybody's ears during the past week. Feliciano would have never expected for someone like him to understand how he felt, but the way Antonio had looked at him after standing frozen in front of his painting for a good minute had forced the Italian to reconsider his impression.

Feliciano remembered the slightly melancholic but so incredibly genuine smile on the older boy's face when he had told him that he had talent, and how he'd found himself at a loss of words under his deep, emerald eyes. The memory still caused a warm tingling sensation to spread in his stomach, but as he cast a quick glance at his brother, who walked beside him with his eyes fixed forward in a familiar thoughtful look, Feliciano willed himself to keep any uncalled-for feelings under control.

Feliciano knew that Lovino hated group projects and that even though he always made sure to keep the time spent with his groupmates to a bare minimum, he usually still complained about them later to Feliciano. That was why the young Italian had been surprised to find Antonio and Lovino still sitting together in the library when he'd gone to meet up with his brother on Tuesday after school. When he had greeted his brother and exchanged a few words with Antonio, he had quickly noted that Lovino was missing the guarded and restrained demeanor that he usually assumed around his classmates. And not only that, but he had also noticed the way his brother had kept stealing glances at Antonio, and how the brunet's eyes had lingered on Lovino when they'd said their good-byes.

Later on their way home, Feliciano had asked his brother what he thought of Antonio, but the older Italian had simply shrugged and said that he was "okay". However, his evasive tone and the way he'd quickly avoided his eyes had fueled Feliciano's suspicion that his brother didn't only find Antonio more bearable than most of his classmates, but that there was something going on between the two.

At first, Feliciano had felt excited for his brother, whom he had never before seen to show that kind of interest in anybody. However, as the young Italian had thought of his own past experiences, he had started to worry that Antonio might be like the guys that he had encountered before, the kind of guys who were only looking for a pretty plaything that they could throw away once they got tired of it. However, after his talk with Antonio in the arts classroom, Feliciano felt reassured that the brunet was nothing like those guys: The depth in his dazzling emerald eyes and the genuine smile that had grazed his lips when he'd complimented Feliciano had been unlike anything that the young Italian had seen before.

During that one short encounter, Antonio had restored Feliciano's hope that maybe the kind of guys that he had always dreamed of really existed, after all.

As Lovino kept leading the way without having to rely on his phone for directions or showing any hesitation at intersections, Feliciano's curiosity was awakened once again.

" _Fratello_ ", he started with a curious glance at his brother.

"Hm?" Lovino hummed without taking his eyes off the street in front of them.

"Have you been to Antonio's place before?" Feliciano asked in an innocent tone, still discreetly studying his brother from the corner of his eye.

The way Lovino's look immediately jumped from the street in front of them to Feliciano, his eyes first widening in alarm and then narrowing in suspicion was enough to answer Feliciano's question.

"So what if I have?" Lovino said defensively even as Feliciano noticed the slight blush that had appeared on his cheeks before he avoided his eyes.

The young Italian was unable to stop a teasing smile from appearing on his lips at his brother's bashfulness, but he resisted the urge to pry more information out of him, no matter how curious he was. He knew his brother well enough to know that it would only make him uncomfortable without yielding him any extra information, so he settled with the thought that one day Lovino would hopefully feel comfortable enough to trust him with more details.

When they arrived in front of Antonio's house after the short walk from the bus stop, Feliciano couldn't help but to stop in his tracks to stare at the sight in front of him. He had expected Antonio's house to be fancy, but the sight of the impressive, cream-colored villa with a blooming garden lined with palm trees and a large swimming pool glimmering under the midday sun still left him in awe.

Everybody at school knew that Antonio's parents were rich, not only because of his style of clothing and the natural air of confidence that he carried around him, but also because it was rumored that they were acquainted with Jordan Chen's family. Jordan Chen was one of the richest and most popular kids at school, and it was a known fact that anyone who was acquainted with the Chen family must have been swimming in money as well.

It wasn't difficult for Feliciano to imagine that as he stared at the stylish three-story house in front of him, and once again he thought of how different Antonio's life must have been from his and Lovino's. Feliciano and Lovino's father might have been rich as well, but Lovino had made it clear that they wouldn't accept any extra money from him besides the child support that he paid to Grandpa Roma and the tuition fees for their school. That was why they lived in a run-down apartment in the worse side of the town and everybody at school knew them as the "poor kids". Most of his classmates were nice enough to not say that to Feliciano's face, but he could still notice the dismissive looks that were directed at him at a regular basis.

As the two of them finally made their way through the pathway leading to the porch of the impressive villa, Feliciano thought of the lack of such dismissal or arrogance in Antonio's eyes when he had talked to him in the arts classroom. Regardless of how different Antonio's past must have been from Feliciano and Lovino's, the depth in the older boy's green eyes had resonated deep within Feliciano, making him feel like he was looking at someone who understood his deepest and darkest feelings. There was definitely more to Antonio than what his easy-going and self-confident persona revealed, the young Italian thought to himself as they reached the porch made out of shiny, dark wood.

As Lovino reached out to ring the doorbell, Feliciano took the moment to study his brother more closely. He could tell that Lovino was trying to look nonchalant, but the way he didn't seem to be able to keep his hands still betrayed his nervousness. As Feliciano watched, his right hand moved from the strap of his bag to his hair, where it smoothed down his auburn bangs. Then both of his hands hand fell down to his sides as he stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his ripped skinny jeans, all the while keeping his eyes fixed at the door in front of them.

Feliciano had grown used to seeing Lovino wear the same worn-out pullovers to school every day, no matter how many times he had offered to go shopping with him or at least let him pick him a more interesting outfit. The young Italian had always thought that it was a shame how Lovino hid his beautiful, trained body in those boring and baggy clothes, but today his brother had clearly put more effort into choosing his outfit. He was wearing the same denim jacket that he had worn to school on Tuesday, along with the black band t-shirt that he'd bought from Rome in the summer and that seemed to have become one of his favorites. His ripped skinny jeans showed off his slim legs and the loosely fitting denim jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders, complimenting his lean but athletic build.

Feliciano couldn't help the small smile that made its way onto his lips as he studied his brother, who was emitting the same kind of vibrant energy that the young Italian had felt himself since the morning.

A defiant strand of auburn hair caught his eye on the side of Lovino's head, and he instinctively reached out to smooth it down for him. The older Italian glanced at him with a curious raise of his eyebrows, but Feliciano simply flashed him a bright smile before turning his look to the door in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter even though it was mostly inner monologue... The next one will be longer and has more interaction between the characters, so you can look forward to that! Meanwhile, please tell me what you thought of this chapter and the story so far - every comment means a lot to me!


	17. Gratitude

After reading through the nearly finished poem analysis once again, Lovino took his eyes off of his laptop screen, letting his look wander around the living room of Antonio's house.

Under a glimmering chandelier, an elegantly shaped glass table was positioned in the center of the room, surrounded by cream-colored leather couches with plush, purple decorative pillows. The oriental rug covering most of the light parquet floor was the same shade of purple as the pillows, as were the silk curtains lining the tall windows that let in the golden light of the midday sun. There was not a single item that looked out of place; not a single used coffee cup abandoned on the table or a single piece of clothing lying on the floor or on one of the sofas. Lovino couldn't help but to feel like he had walked into a home décor magazine instead of somebody's actual home.

The Italian shifted his look to the walls adorned by paintings, each of which he guessed must have cost more than what most people earned during their lifetime. Most of them portrayed landscapes painted in different styles, and what they all had in common was the light color scheme that fit the overall style of the room. As Lovino examined the painting that Feliciano had recognized as a particularly famous one - it was painted by an artist named Claude Monet and the title was something in French - he found himself thinking that his father would have probably got along well with Antonio's parents. The thought caused his stomach to turn unpleasantly, and he forced himself to tear his look off of the walls and focus his attention on the boy sitting next to him on a bar stool, eyes fixed at the laptop screen in front of him.

Even in his plain white t-shirt and casual training shorts, Antonio somehow managed to look like he belonged in the luxurious house among the stylish furniture and expensive paintings. And yet, the Italian thought as he studied the concentrated expression on the brunet's handsome face, he didn't possess any of that posh extravagance that floated around most kids at their school. He didn't look like he was trying too hard to impress anybody, and yet there was something incredibly attractive about the natural glow of his tan skin contrasted by the white shirt, and the way there always seemed to be a hint of a smile dancing on his lips when his eyes met with Lovino's.

_How does someone like him even exist?_  Lovino thought with exasperation as he once again turned his eyes to his laptop screen after being caught studying the boy sitting next to him.

He didn't really have anything to add to the poem analysis, and Antonio had already started to go over the text to fix any mistakes and improve the language. That was probably very much necessary for the parts Lovino had written, but the Italian hoped that his contributions had been of at least some use for the project.

Having nothing else to do, Lovino's look shifted to Antonio's hands as his fingers glided over the keyboard of his laptop. They were tan, with prominent veins on the backside of his palms and slim, strong fingers. A memory from almost three weeks ago surfaced in his mind: Antonio's fingers brushing gently against his cheek, barely more than a lingering breath of warm air caressing his bruised skin. It was as if the memory had been imprinted in the Italian's mind, so vivid that if he closed his eyes, he could still almost feel the slight tickle of the brunet's touch on his cheek.

Lovino remembered how he'd sat in his favorite spot by the fountain before Antonio had found him, feeling so utterly tired and hopeless that he'd wished he could simply let himself be buried under the pile of rubble that kept collapsing on top of him. He had been so tired of pulling himself together every time he was knocked down, so tired of seeing the worry on his brother's face when he came home with a bruised face that he hadn't even bothered to argue with Antonio when he'd insisted on treating his injuries.

When had been the last time someone had treated his injuries like that? Lovino thought, feeling a dull ache spread through his chest as two older memories surfaced in his mind.

Feliciano's trembling hand wiping his bloodied face with a stack of wet paper towels, every careful touch sending a fresh jolt of pain through Lovino's fractured nose. The amount of willpower it had taken him to endure the eye-watering pain without wincing or letting out a single sound.

The sterile smell of the hospital waiting area and Feliciano's pale face next to him under the bright artificial lights, his amber eyes wide with fear and worry. The pain in his ribs as he took shallow breaths, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having to face his brother's concerned face.

Lovino blinked his eyes, feeling a prickle of pain in his rib cage as if his body could still remember the old injury.

When Lovino had been nine years old, he had sworn to himself that he would become strong, strong enough to take care of himself and his brother without having to rely on anybody else for help. According to all sense, he should have hated the sense of vulnerability he'd felt when he'd let Antonio clean up his battered face or when he'd confessed the worry he felt for Feliciano. However, instead of hating it, the Italian had felt  _relieved_ , relieved to have someone to lean on when he felt like the weight on his shoulders was becoming too much for him to carry on his own. The Italian might have been embarrassed to admit it to himself, but Antonio's presence made him feel a sense of comfort that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

However, at the same time, it was as if there was an electric charge building up in the air between them. Unlike Feliciano, Lovino had never been a touchy person, the only person he felt comfortable to share physical contact with being his brother. However, as he thought of the feeling of Antonio's light touch on his cheek, almost sending shivers down his spine, the Italian was filled with a strange sense of yearning, the yearning to feel the brunet's gentle touch on his skin again.

Lovino felt his cheeks grow hot at his own thoughts, which had come from a part of his mind that he usually kept locked away in the deepest depths of his consciousness. Almost involuntarily, the Italian's eyes drifted back to the glowing skin on Antonio's arms, left bare by the short-sleeved t-shirt that he was wearing. Then his eyes traveled up to the other boy's neck, his strong jawline and the rich brown hair that framed his face, complimenting his golden skin tone. Lovino's breath got stuck in his throat and something in his brain seemed to short-circuit.

_God dammit_ , a frustrated voice pierced through the strange buzzing that had seemed to fill up the Italian's head.

_What are you even thinking about? Just pull yourself together._

Lovino forced himself to tear his eyes away from the boy sitting next to him. Instead, he dropped his look down to his lap, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers.

It wasn't at all like him to get so distracted by somebody's appearance, no matter how good-looking they were. When Lovino had seen Antonio for the first time, he had noticed his good looks, but it had been like any other visual observation that didn't have any significant emotional effect on him. The sky was blue, grass was green, and some people were more visually pleasing than others. There was no reason for him to get distracted by something like that. 

However, after seeing the brunet's brows crease in concern as he'd regarded his bruised face, seeing the dark shadow that had passed over his usually so bright eyes when Lovino had lashed out at him for sticking his nose into his business, and the dazzling smiles that appeared on his lips so easily and yet seemed so genuine each time, the Italian couldn't help but to feel fascinated by every little flicker of emotion on Antonio's face, every little detail in his appearance. It was something that Lovino had never experienced before, something that scared him a little because he didn't know how to deal with it.

"Alright, I think I'm done!" Antonio announced from next to him, causing Lovino to snap out of his thoughts.

"Here, take a look at it."

The brunet pushed his laptop towards Lovino, only to raise his eyebrows curiously as his eyes landed on the Italian, who must have still looked a little out of it.

"Are you tired?" The brunet asked, a hint of worry causing his brows to crease together ever so slightly.

Lovino quickly shook his head, cursing the heat that still hadn't completely left his cheeks.

"I'm good", he assured the other boy, letting his eyes fall to the laptop that had been pushed in front of him.

Lovino could feel Antonio's eyes on him as he started going through the final version of the analysis, trying to focus his mind on what he was reading instead of the boy sitting next to him. Halfway through the text, he gave up on trying to read everything and settled with skimming through the rest, trusting that Antonio had done a good job and that there would be nothing for him to point out anyway.

When he was done, Lovino quickly signaled his approval to Antonio before jumping off his bar stool, eager to escape the other boy's attentive eyes. He let his eyes wander around the fancy living room with its cream-colored leather sofas, famous artworks and tall windows letting out to the blooming garden. Feliciano was still sitting cross-legged in front of one of the sofas with his earbuds on, drawing in his sketchbook with the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips. Lovino's heart swelled at the sight of his brother looking so at ease, face free of any fear or worry as he focused on doing what he liked the most.

"You wanna watch a movie together?"

Lovino's look snapped back to Antonio, who had also got off his bar stool after shutting down his laptop. There was a small smile playing on his lips as he regarded the Italian, casually leaning his elbow against the counter.

"Sure", Lovino said, aiming for a casual tone even as that  _damn smile_ was only causing the buzzing in his head to get louder.

Lovino walked up to his brother and ruffled his hair affectionately, earning a distracted glance from the younger Italian. As he peered at the sketchbook in Feliciano's lap, Lovino was surprised to note that he was looking at a drawing of himself, dressed in the same clothes that he was wearing now and meeting his eyes from under a pair of raised eyebrows. The drawing was obviously unfinished, but the skill with which Feliciano had captured his features and the details of his clothes so realistically was as impressive as ever. The Italian's eyes lingered on the drawing for a moment as he wondered if that was how his brother truly saw him, his expression so attentive and full of life and a certain strength to his frame and posture that Lovino himself wasn't sure he possessed.

"Feliciano, would you mind choosing a movie for us?" Antonio said, picking up an Apple TV remote from the glass table in front of the sofas. "You can pick anything you like."

At Antonio's words, Feliciano lifted his eyes up from the sketchbook on his lap, watching the remote that was being offered to him. Then he removed the earbuds from his ears before gingerly reaching out to take it from the brunet's hand. A small smile made its way onto the younger Italian's lips as he nodded at Antonio, causing Lovino's eyebrows to raise slightly. If Lovino didn't usually get affected by people's good looks, it was always easy for him to tell when his brother was attracted to someone. It was that bashful shyness that had suddenly taken over the younger Italian that made it obvious what kind of an effect Antonio had on him.

_Well, what did you expect?_ Lovino asked himself with a hint of frustration.

_Antonio looks exactly like the kind of guy that he'd crush on._

Somehow the thought caused an uncomfortable itch to spread through Lovino's body as he watched Antonio switch on the TV and show Feliciano how to browse the movies on iTunes.

"Lovino", the brunet suddenly said as he turned his attention to the older Italian. "I'm thinking of making some sandwiches. You wanna lend me a hand while your brother picks a movie?"

The brunet's head was slightly tilted to the side in a questioning manner, and even though there was a casual hint of a smile on his lips, Lovino noticed a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Lovino examined the other boy for a few seconds, then glanced at his brother, who was happily browsing through the movies. Then he nodded his head at Antonio and followed him through the large living room and a pair of glass door into the kitchen.

The kitchen was connected to the dining area, with tall windows and a glass door leading to the terrace and letting in the golden sunlight. The white tile floor, grey cabinets and matching white-and-grey stone counters were simple but stylish, all surfaces spotless and shiny in the bright daylight. It was nothing like the small and cramped kitchen in Lovino and Feliciano's apartment, which had ugly brown furnishing and set-in stains on the walls and surfaces. Lovino much rather lived in that dump than accepted money from his father, but he couldn't help but to feel a prickle of self-consciousness as wondered what Antonio would have thought if he'd know what kind of a place he lived in.

"Last week, I saw Gilbert having an argument with someone at school", the brunet suddenly said, interrupting Lovino's jarring thoughts.

The Italian's brows creased into a frown as his eyes skimmed over the ingredients that Antonio had piled on the kitchen counter in front of them.

"So? He's pissed off a lot of people", Lovino pointed out, wondering why the other boy sounded so troubled by something that didn't strike him as anything too unusual.

There was a moment of silence, during with Antonio offered Lovino a knife and a chopping board, along with a couple of large tomatoes.

"I think the guy was his brother", the brunet finally said, turning his eyes to the Italian as if to gauge his reaction.

Lovino felt his eyes widen in surprise as he stared at the boy in front of him. Antonio's full, brown eyebrows were knit together in a thoughtful frown, forming a crease on the bridge of his nose.

"Are you sure?" Lovino asked slowly, taking his turn to frown at the brunet as he tried to process his words.

"Tall, blond, muscular." Antonio tilted his head to the side as he described the guy he'd seen arguing with Gilbert. "He was talking about a sports team, I think, and punching the captain."

"Gilbert punched Alfred?" Lovino asked, barely managing to avoid raising his voice too much at the unexpected piece of information.

"Alfred as in the captain of the basketball team?" Antonio asked, the thoughtful frown on his face deepening as he tried to put the pieces together.

Lovino nodded, placing his hand on the kitchen counter as his brows creased into a frown once again.

"Yeah", the Italian said slowly as he stared at the elaborately shaped wooden chopping board in front of him. "Gilbert used to be on the team until last year."

"What happened?" Antonio inquired, casting Lovino a curious glance before finally starting to fill the sandwiches with ham and cheese.

"He lost his temper during a match, beat up one of his opponents and got kicked out of the team", Lovino said before following Antonio's example and picking up his knife. "His brother is still on the team", he added after cutting a few slices of tomato.

As he took a moment to give him a quick glance, Lovino noticed that Antonio had stopped in the middle of placing a slice of cheese on a sandwich. He nodded his head slowly before turning to Lovino again.

"They don't really get along, do they?" the brunet asked with a thoughtful look in his green eyes.

Lovino shook his head as he let his look fall to the tomato lying abandoned on the chopping board in front of him.

"As far as I know, they can't stand the sight of each other."

Something was definitely off about what Antonio had just told him. He hadn't seen Gilbert and his younger brother go anywhere near each other since Gilbert had been kicked out of the team, and he found it strange that Gilbert would suddenly go punching his old team captain after almost half a year. But if Ludwig had openly confronted him about it at school, then could it be that he had also been the one to give Gilbert that bruise a week ago? 

Lovino finally resumed his task of slicing the tomatoes even as he kept trying to figure out just what exactly was going on with Gilbert and his brother. As they continued preparing the sandwiches in silence, Lovino's thoughts eventually drifted from Gilbert to Feliciano, and the sudden good mood that had taken over him in the morning. While he knew that his brother always tended to be in high spirits when he crushed on somebody, he felt like this time there was more to it than that: There was that sparkle in Feliciano's eyes that had been missing since they'd returned from Italy at the end of the summer break, and Lovino doubted a simple crush could have been enough to bring it back. The Italian was certain that whatever Antonio had said to his brother on Tuesday was the reason his brother had suddenly regained his livelihood.

_Which is something you have been unable to do yourself all this time._

_What a damn great big brother you are._

Lovino's throat suddenly felt tight as he placed the last sandwich on the large porcelain plate that Antonio had retrieved from one of the cabinets.

Before Antonio had time to pick up the plate which was now piled high with freshly made sandwiches, Lovino found himself reaching out with his hand to stop him.

"Antonio, wait."

The Italian hadn't properly registered what he had been doing, but once it occurred to him that he was holding the other boy by one of his tan, firm forearms, the Italian instantly felt heat rising up to his cheeks. He quickly released his grip as if Antonio's skin had burned him, trying to calm himself down by taking in a deep breath of air.

"I wanted to ask you..." Lovino started, avoiding Antonio's curious eyes as the lump in his throat seemed to grow larger. "About what you talked about with my brother. Earlier this week."

"Oh", Antonio said, looking a little surprised at his question, as if he had expected him to say something else. Then a small smile formed on his lips as he met Lovino's eyes.

"I just told him that he's a talented artist", the brunet said after a moment of silence. "I was really impressed when I saw his painting."

Lovino studied the other boy's face, carefully considering his words. It might have been the pause that had preceded the brunet's words, or the way Lovino couldn't quite read the look in his eyes, or simply the fact that Lovino knew what a great effect Antonio and Feliciano's conversation had had on his brother, but somehow the Italian got the feeling that the other boy had only told him a part of the truth. He couldn't quite believe that a simple compliment would have pulled Feliciano out of the lifeless state that he'd been in for weeks.

However, Lovino simply nodded at Antonio, figuring that he wasn't going to get a better answer out of him.

"Oh, and don't mention Gilbert around my brother", Lovino added, glancing briefly at the direction of the living room before fixing his eyes at Antonio again.

The brunet met his eyes, the look on his face serious as he gave the Italian an understanding nod of his head.

xxx

A few minutes into the movie Feliciano had picked - Avengers: Infinity War - Antonio grabbed a sandwich and urged Lovino and Feliciano to try them as well.

Lovino watched as his brother eyed the sandwich plate suspiciously, as if trying to determine whether it would try to bite him if he got too close. Then he finally reached out with his hand, hovering it in the air for a moment before carefully choosing a sandwich. Lovino could see the hesitation in his brother’s eyes as he held onto his sandwich with both hands, brows creased into the tiniest frown and lips pressed together in contemplation. Lovino could see the inner conflict that Feliciano was struggling with, and he got the feeling that it was about something much bigger than simply taking a bite of the sandwich. That was why when the younger Italian finally proceeded to take a careful bite, Lovino felt a hopeful surge of warmth stir in his chest. 

"How is it?" Antonio asked in a casual tone, shifting his look from the TV screen to glance at Feliciano.

Regardless of the brunet's casual tone, Lovino could see the attentive look in his emerald eyes.

"It's good", Feliciano said after slowly chewing and swallowing his mouthful. There was a slightly bewildered smile on his face as his look shifted from Antonio to Lovino, as if he had been surprised by his own discovery.

Before he knew it, Lovino found himself returning his brother's smile as a fuzzy sense of warmth filled his whole chest. He ran his fingers through the silky amber hair on the top of Feliciano's head, unable to resist the urge to ruffle it a little even though he knew that he would receive complaints for it. As he'd expected, the younger Italian squirmed under his hand, giving him an accusing pout that only made him smile wider at how adorable his brother looked.

Lovino watched as Feliciano slowly ate his sandwich, eyes glued to the TV screen as he rested his head on Lovino's shoulder. Seeing his brother eat something without looking like every bite caused him physical pain and hearing his bubbly laugh whenever there was a funny scene in the movie made the Lovino's heart feel lighter than it had felt in weeks.

Every once in a while, the Italian's look shifted to the boy sitting on his other side, close enough for his leg to occasionally brush against Lovino's. Each time his eyes were met by the brunet's emerald ones, he felt his breath get stuck in his throat before he quickly shifted his look back to the TV screen. Whatever it was that Antonio had said to Feliciano to make his lately so tired and hazy eyes regain their usual lively sparkle, it made Lovino feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards the brunet. He felt like he should have been scared to become too dependent of somebody who could technically turn his back on him at any time, but somehow whatever it was that he felt when he looked into those bright emerald eyes, it wasn't fear.

It was warmth, comfort and that strange mixture of excitement and nervousness that made his breath get stuck in his throat and his head fill up with that persistent buzzing.

Maybe Feliciano had a crush on Antonio, Lovino thought, but as he absently ran his fingers through his brother's silky hair as the younger Italian snuggled into his side, he felt embarrassed of himself for being disturbed by the idea earlier. As long as he could see the lively sparkle in Feliciano's eyes, hear his bubbly laugh and watch him eat properly every day, Lovino decided that he wouldn't let any petty personal feelings dim the gratitude he felt for getting his brother back after weeks of feeling like he was slowly losing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more interaction between all our main characters! How do you like the way things are progressing so far? Please let me know in the comments!


	18. Hollowness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College has been keeping me busy lately, but I’m finally back! I hope you’ll enjoy the chapter!

Sundays were the only days when Antonio sometimes felt like he didn’t have anything to do. 

With no class or track practice or any school assignment to work on, the Spaniard was left with too much time and a lack of productive ways to spend it. He knew that most kids his age would have used the time to go hang out with friends, go somewhere with their family or just watch movies or play video games. However, Antonio wasn’t used to spending time with his classmates outside of school unless he was working on a school project with them, his parents were always either away on a business trip like now or too busy to go anywhere with him, and doing something as unproductive as watching movies or playing games on his own would have made him feel like he was slacking off.

He could have read something, practiced with his guitar or worked on his Spanish, but somehow he couldn’t find the motivation to do any of those things. Instead, Antonio simply leaned back in his office chair in his room and stared at the ceiling window above his head. Between the window blinds, the sky was blue and clear like it had been on the day before and on every other day in the past week.

The soft, light blue sky might have been beautiful, yet Antonio found himself recalling an even more beautiful sight that he had witnessed on the day before:

Heart-shaped lips spread into a close-mouthed smile and amber eyes crinkled around the edges, lit up by genuine happiness.

The Spaniard remembered how he had hoped that he would one day get to see Lovino smile, and how he had thought that the sight would be mesmerizing. That had been when they had had coffee together a week ago, and yesterday, Antonio had seen it for the first time. He had seen the smile that had slowly made its way onto Lovino’s lips when he’d watched his brother eat his sandwich, and the sight had been even more beautiful than the Spaniard could have ever imagined.

Antonio found himself wishing that he could see that smile all the time, that one day it wouldn’t be such a rare sight anymore.

Still staring at the slivers of light blue sky, Antonio thought of how they’d been sitting so close to each other while watching the movie and how badly he’d wanted to wrap his arm around the other boy’s shoulders and pull him closer. However, no matter how tempting the idea of feeling the beautiful auburn-haired boy pressed against his side had been, the Spaniard had forced himself to keep at a safe distance. He couldn’t have risked ruining the moment and making the other boy feel uncomfortable, not when he’d looked so happy and so at ease with his brother snuggled up to his side.

Antonio closed his eyes, which were growing sore from staring at the bright afternoon sky. He remembered the gentle, caring look that had filled Lovino’s eyes whenever he’d looked at his brother; the look that had made Antonio feel a strange ache in his chest. 

The Spaniard took in a deep breath as if hoping that the air would fill the familiar hollowness that had settled in his chest. He couldn’t help it that seeing how close Lovino and Feliciano were and how deeply they cared for each other reminded him of what he had been lacking his whole life: He didn’t have any siblings, he had never been close to his classmates at school and even his relationship with his parents had never been close in such a warm and loving way. His parents had taught him that it was important to make a good impression and to get along with people, but they had never placed much importance on building close friendships. After all, what was the point of getting close to anybody if he was going to move away in a couple of months anyway and probably never see them again?

Antonio could have technically said that he knew people from Hong Kong, Singapore, the Philippines, France, Canada and the several other countries that he’d lived in, but in all those places, he had always felt more like an observer than someone who had actually been a part of the group. He had learned who was friends with who, who was particularly good at basketball or playing the piano, and whose parents were involved in a media scandal, but he couldn’t have said that any of those people had been an important part of his life. He had simply focused on doing well at school and track, and he’d grown accustomed to the constant change of environment: It didn’t matter whether he was in Singapore or Manila or Paris, for his daily routine would stay roughly the same wherever he lived.

Living in different cities all over the world might have sounded cool, but at some point all large cities had started to look the same to him. Sure, there was always something that was unique to a particular city and sometimes he did make nice discoveries like a particularly beautiful park or an exceptionally good ramen restaurant, but still it sometimes felt like each city was just an addition to a growing list where individual places and experiences started to blur together as it grew longer. 

Conversations that he couldn’t understand, customs that he wasn’t familiar with, and rich kids who were always more or less the same in whatever expensive private school he attended. People asking him where he was from and him answering that he was from Spain, even though he didn’t feel like it was different from any other country he’d lived in - it just happened to be the first country on his list. He might have been born there and his parents were Spanish, but he didn’t speak the language and he had been so young when he’d lived there that he didn’t remember much of it. His parents spoke English to each other and for practical reasons, they had never taught him Spanish. He had only started trying to learn the language on his own a few years ago, not for any practical reason but simply for the sake of feeling a connection to his parents’ home country.

Watching Lovino and Feliciano had served as a painful reminder of how Antonio didn’t have such a close relationship with anyone and how he felt like he didn’t truly belong anywhere, regardless of having been to so many places. That was why he had felt that ache in his chest even though it had warmed his heart to see that beautiful smile on Lovino’s face, to see him look so happy and comfortable around someone. Antonio knew it was selfish of him to feel like that when he should have simply felt happy for his friend and when he himself had so many things to feel grateful for, so many things that many people could only dream of. 

And there he was, in his parent’s villa in a nice neighborhood in Florida, feeling a hollowness in his chest as he thought of the things that he  _didn’t_  have. 

The sound of his phone ringtone caused Antonio’s eyes to snap open, effectively breaking him out of his thoughts. He blinked at the bright daylight coming in through the gaps between the window blinds as he reached out to grab his phone front the desk in front of him.

As his eyes were met with the caller ID ‘ _Mother’,_ any remaining thoughts quickly left his mind. The Spaniard took in a deep breath as if preparing himself for a speech in front of his whole school, then picked up the call.

“Hello, mother”, he said, pressing the phone lightly against his ear.

“Hello, dear”, his mother’s feminine yet assertive voice greeted him from the other end of the line.

Antonio could tell from her tone that she was distracted, only part of her attention focused on Antonio while most of her thoughts were centered on something else - probably the deal that she and her husband were supposed to make with their client in New York.

“How has your trip between?” the Spaniard asked politely, back brushing lightly against his chair as he kept his posture straight.

“Everything is going well here in New York”, his mother said in her slightly distracted voice, and Antonio could picture the hint of a polite smile on her face. “How are things at home, dear? I assume everything is well at school?” 

“Yes, mother. I just finished the group project for English yesterday, and I have been doing the extra readings that my biology teacher recommended.”

An approving hum sounded from the other end of the line.

“You have exams coming up soon?”

“Next week, starting from Wednesday”, Antonio responded, his look falling to the biology textbook lying on the desk in front of him.

“I trust you will be well prepared.”

“Of course.”

“And how about track? I heard from your coach that you broke the team record last week, but that wasn’t your personal best, was it? I trust you’ll work even harder to prepare for your first competition.”

“I will, mother”, Antonio said as he finally took his eyes off of the biology textbook. “Practice will be doubling starting from tomorrow.”

“Good”, the Spaniard’s mother said before pausing for long enough to take a look at her watch. Antonio heard the faint sound of a door opening on her end, followed by distant voices and the sound of shoes clacking against a parquet floor.

“I’m sorry dear, but I will have to attend a meeting in a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure that you are doing well at home, since your father and I will have to extend our trip. We will be seeing an old client in Edmonton next week, but we hope to be back in time for your competition.”

_So that’s why she called...  
_

A familiar weight sank to the bottom of Antonio’s stomach as he let the back of his head touch the office chair. It was hardly the first time his mother had called him for the same reason, so the news shouldn’t have come us a surprise to him. However, somehow he could still feel the disappointment at the fact that his parents wouldn’t be coming home on the following week like he’d expected. They might have not even spent much time with him when they were home, but at least the house wouldn’t have felt so quiet and empty all the time.

“Okay, take care. I’ll see you when you come back”, Antonio said after a short pause, a polite smile automatically forming on his lips even though nobody could see him. 

“You too, dear. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, mother.”

Antonio lowered he phone from his ear, staring at the screen for a couple of seconds before placing it back on the desk. He exhaled slowly before leaning back against his chair, tilting his head back as he once again focused his eyes at the ceiling window above him.

He stayed like that for a moment, willing himself to push the sudden melancholy off of his mind. It took him longer than usual, as if he lacked the motivation to return to the reality where he needed to work hard to fulfill the expectations that his parents had for him.

When he finally tore his look off of the light blue sky, his eyes yet again landed on the biology textbook lying on the desk in front of him. His brows creased into a small frown as he felt a sting of guilt break through the heaviness that had spread from his stomach to the rest of his body during the past few minutes.

What good did it do him to feel sorry for himself because he felt like he didn’t quite belong anywhere or have anyone who he was truly close with? That was his life, and wishing for the things that he didn’t have was only distracting him from working hard for the things that made him who he was, the things that made him Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. At first, he might have strived to become the person who he was today simply to fulfil the expectations that his parents had for him, but as he’d grown older, those expectations had become an essential part of who he was.

Moving from one city to the other, feeling like an outsider around his classmates and being alone in an empty house while his parents were away on a business trip were all experiences that motivated him to work harder, not only to make his parents proud but to make  _himself_  proud. That goal was the only thing that remained with him no matter where he went and whether his parents were at home or not. It was what gave him a purpose and an identity: he was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a straight A’s student, a track prodigy and the perfect son.

With a newfound surge of determination, Antonio sat up in his office chair and reached out to open the biology textbook in front of him. 

Life was all about making sacrifices and choosing one thing over another. Nobody could have everything, whether it was money or a close relationship with one’s family or a sense of belonging. It was greedy of him to think that he was entitled to have all those things without having to make any sacrifices. 

And even if he had been offered the choice to throw away everything he had and have a completely different kind of life, he knew he wouldn’t have done it. After all, the things that he had and that he had worked hard for were all he knew. He didn’t know how to fill the hollowness deep inside of him, so all he could do was work hard for the things that made him the Antonio that everyone else knew - the only Antonio that he knew properly  _himself.  
_

The Spaniard flipped through the textbook to the section he had to study for his exam. He shifted in his chair to find a more comfortable position, but just as he was about to start reading, the image of Lovino’s smiling face resurfaced in his mind, causing him to lose focus.

The Antonio who had taken a practical stranger to his place to clean up his injuries wasn’t the same Antonio who worked relentlessly to appear perfect in everybody’s eyes. Neither was the Antonio who had resolved to help Lovino with whatever trouble he was involved in and who now couldn’t get the other boy’s beautiful smile off of his mind. The way Lovino was so genuine with his emotions, whether it was distrust, anger, concern, or happiness, resonated within Antonio in a way that drew him closer to the other boy the more time he spent with him. The auburn-haired boy was the first person to reach the part of Antonio that was buried so deep within him that he sometimes wondered if it still existed.

By causing that part of Antonio to stir, Lovino had reminded the Spaniard of how hollow he truly felt on the inside, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that what he had was enough for him.

Antonio closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking in a deep breath of air. He had his midterm exams and the first track competition of the semester coming up in less than two weeks. He had to get himself back together before his lack of focus affected his performance.

That thought enabled the Spaniard to force the distracting thoughts off of his mind as he once again focused his eyes on the textbook in front of him. However, even as his mind was filled up by black letters and colourful illustrations on white paper, the feeling of hollowness persisted as a dull ache in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Is it greedy of Antonio to want something more when his life is so perfectly in order? Is it necessary to compromise personal fulfillment on a deeper level to keep focused on achievement goals?
> 
> These are some questions that I’ve thought of a lot myself, and we’ll be dealing with them more in the rest of the story.
> 
> I’ll probably have to keep updating this story less frequently from now on since I’m busy with college and life in general, but I'll do my best to finish it eventually. Don’t forget that any feedback or comments you might have are a great source of motivation to me!


	19. Falling Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me ages, but I finally managed to update!

Lovino stared at the water in the kitchen sink, his eyes narrowing as he waited for it to go down the drain. When it didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so, the Italian let out a frustrated sigh, his eyes shifting to the cabinet under the sink.

The drain was blocked again, which meant that he would have to open up the pipes and remove the disgusting food remains that were stuck in there. Technically, he could have called the landlord and asked him to do something so that it wouldn't get clogged so easily, but the Italian knew that it would have probably meant replacing the whole system, and there was no way his greedy landlord would have agreed to do that.

That was why he was left with no choice but to do it himself, even if the memory of the last time he’d done it made his skin crawl with disgust.

As Lovino stared at the cabinet with a strong sense of reluctance, Grandpa Roma’s face suddenly surfaced in his mind. His grandfather would have no doubt told him to man up and deal with it if he’d heard him complain about something as trivial as cleaning the pipes. The Italian couldn’t help it that the thought caused a small smile of amusement to tug at the corner of his mouth.

Lovino thought back to the years he’d spent on Grandpa Roma’s farm before his father had decided to enroll him in a private high school in Florida. In those days, he had spent a large part of his free time helping his grandfather with various tasks on the farm, such as taking care of the animals and planting vegetables. Grandpa Roma had also taught him how to cook and fix little things in the house, telling that he had to learn to do things on his own because one day he wouldn’t be there to help him.

Grandpa Roma was the only adult that Lovino had ever fully trusted; the only adult who had always believed in him, even when the Italian himself had doubted whether or not he deserved that. He had told Lovino that he reminded him of his own younger self, who had grown up as the eldest child of his family in the years after the war. He had had three brothers and one sister, and while he had always worked hard on the farm, he hadn’t done as well in his studies as his siblings. He had told Lovino about how his parents had always praised his youngest brother for getting into university, and how even though Grandpa Roma had been the one to eventually inherit the farm, he had felt like he had always been in the shadow of his siblings.

That was how Lovino had often felt when he’d been younger, because even though Feliciano had always meant the world to him, it did still sting a little when his brother was showered with praise for his good grades and talent in art while Lovino only seemed to get attention when he got into trouble.

Grandpa Roma might have not been the type of person that one had long, heartfelt conversations with, but Lovino had always had the feeling that he understood him better than anyone else. Whenever he had come home from school broody and with a black eye or a bloody nose, his grandfather had taken him out to the farm and given him wood to chop or hay to stack. He had taught him to pour his frustration into something productive, and afterwards he would listen to him tell him what had happened, never losing his composure no matter him much trouble Lovino had got into.

The memory of those times made the Italian’s chest ache with a sudden sense longing: While he had had his struggles back then, things had been a lot simpler then than they were now.

For him and Feliciano, the past week and a half had been a lot better than the beginning of the semester. Just the thought of how much healthier Feliciano was looking after only two weeks since his mysterious chat with Antonio made Lovino’s chest feel light with relief and gratitude. They had also been left alone by Gilbert and his gang, who hadn’t made any efforts to intimidate them aside from a few sour looks.

However, while Lovino and Feliciano no longer seemed to be in Gilbert’s radar, the Italian has noticed the tense atmosphere that had been building up at school ever since he had seen Gilbert and his brother argue on the school yard. It seemed that punching Alfred, who was the captain of the basketball team and one of the most popular kids at school, had turned most of the school against Gilbert. Everyone was tired of being intimidated by him and watching him do whatever he wanted, and now they finally seemed to have had enough.

Lovino wanted Gilbert to get a taste of his own medicine more than anyone, but mostly he was just happy that he, and most importantly Feliciano, were no longer in the center of the conflict. The Italian also had other things to worry about when the midterm exams were coming up in less than a week away. In the past, he hadn’t really made much of an effort to study for exams, simply because he hadn’t felt like it would have made much of a difference anyway. Knowing that Feliciano would score better than him no matter how hard he tried, not trying at all had made it sting a little less.

However, he was in his senior year of high school now, and even if he had no idea what he wanted to do after graduating, he had to make sure that he  _would_ actually graduate. That was why he had been making at least some sort of an effort to study for his exams on the past couple of days.

On top of having to worry about his exams, Lovino had also found himself thinking about a certain green-eyed brunet more often than he would have liked to admit. He had barely heard from Antonio ever since he and Feliciano had been to his place nearly two weeks ago, and he couldn’t help it that it made him feel more than a little disappointed.

It wasn’t like he had expected Antonio to hang out with him every day at school considering how popular the brunet was, but during the past one and a half weeks, Lovino had only exchanged a couple of greetings with him in the hallways. Other than that, he had barely seen the brunet outside of their classes, and whenever he had seen him, he had always seemed to be in a hurry. The Italian had considered the possibility that Antonio was deliberately avoiding him for some reason, but Feliciano had told him that he had seen him spend a lot of time studying in the school library, which explained why Lovino rarely saw him elsewhere at school.

The Italian grabbed the kitchen towel that was lying on the counter next to him, willing himself to shake the distracting thoughts off of his mind. He dried his hands to finally prepare for his next task, which was cleaning the nasty pipes under the sink. However, just as he was about to open the cabinet and get to work, the sound of the front door of the apartment opening caught his attention. 

Feliciano had been supposed to spend the afternoon hanging out with his friends on the soccer field, which was why Lovino hadn’t been expecting him to come home so early.

As the Italian made his way to the living room to greet his brother, he immediately noticed the troubled expression on his face before he turned to close the door behind himself, greeting the older Italian with a concerningly flat “ _hi fratello_ ”.

“Hey, Feli”, Lovino said carefully as he watched his brother take off his sneakers and place them neatly by the door. “Did something happen?”

The younger Italian remained standing in front of the door, his eyes moving from the sneakers to Lovino before quickly settling on the floor in front of Lovino’s feet. The older Italian could easily recognize the evasive mannerism from all the times when his brother had been reluctant to tell him something before. 

“Feli? What is it?” Lovino asked, his brows creasing in concern as he kept studying his brother.

The younger Italian bit his lip, his brows creased in a slight frown as he briefly glanced at Lovino before fixing his eyes on the floor again.

“Dad called”, he finally said without meeting Lovino’s eyes, his right hand fumbling with the left sleeve of his denim jacket. 

Lovino felt a familiar tightness in his chest as his jaw clenched automatically at his brother’s words. 

“About what?” 

“He... he’s hosting a big exhibition in New York and...” the Feliciano said hesitantly before trailing off, his eyes still fixed at the frayed sleeve of his denim jacket.

“...and he said he wanted to introduce some of my works there”, the younger Italian continued, his voice barely more than a soft mumble.

Lovino had expected those words, and yet they still made him feel a familiar burn in the pit of his stomach.

“And?” The older Italian asked, his voice coming out more demanding than he’d intended. “What did you tell him?” 

“That I wasn’t interested”, Feliciano said, glancing at his older brother again even as his head remained hung low. Their eyes met for a second before the younger Italian turned to head down the hallway, disappearing into his room and closing the door silently behind him.

Lovino remained standing in his spot in the middle of their cramped apartment, the kitchen towel still clutched in his right hand while the left one hung limply by his side. He should have felt relieved that Feliciano had declined their father’s offer, but somehow the tightness in his chest had only become worse when he’d watched his brother shrink into himself in front of him before walking off to his room.

It was hardly the first time they had had almost the exact same conversation, and each time it ended the same way: with Feliciano being upset and Lovino knowing that he was at least partly the one at fault.

Feliciano loved making art, he was remarkably talented, and Lovino would have never denied that he deserved to be recognized for that talent. However, the Italian feared that if Feliciano got his name out there through their father, his success would be attributed to family connections, which he couldn’t allow to happen. He didn’t want either one of them to owe anything to their father, not after he had made it clear that he was only there for them when it was convenient for him.

Lovino stared at the direction of his brother’s bedroom, thinking of how happy he had been during the past two weeks before their father had called him. The Italian’s fist tightened around the kitchen towel as a the burn of anger once again stirred in his stomach. Their father hadn’t cared enough to be there for them when they’d needed him, so what right did he have to ruin things by getting involved now? 

Lovino finally tore his look off of his brother’s closed door, forcing himself to make his way back to the kitchen. He stared at the cabinet under the sink with an angry scowl on his face, imagining the grimy pipes that awaited him behind the swollen panels.

If it weren’t for Lovino’s resolve to not accept any extra money from his father, they could have been living in a nice apartment on the better side of town. There was no denying that the apartment they lived in was a shithole, but to Lovino, rejecting any offer that his father made had always been the obvious choice. The only thing he had allowed his father to pay for him and Feliciano besides the child support he paid for Grandpa Roma were the tuition fees for their school, and even that was only after relentless persuasion from his grandfather. 

_The most valuable thing a father can give to his child is a future. Let him give you a good education and you won’t have to rely on him for the rest of your life._

That was what Grandpa Roma had told him, and Lovino had had to admit that it was a reasonable argument.

Grandpa Roma had been able to persuade him without raising his voice or intimidating him in any way, which was something he had never done to either him or Feliciano. The anger that had stirred in the Italian a moment ago quickly deflated as he thought of the way his brother had avoided his eyes and sunk into himself in front of him. It was no wonder Feliciano had been reluctant to tell him about their father’s call in the first place, and Lovino had reacted exactly as he had no doubt expected: he had used a demanding tone on him and made him feel pressured to not accept their father’s offer.

Lovino was only thinking of what was best for his brother, but he knew painfully well that it wasn’t only his father who was to blame for upsetting him. The reason why Feliciano had looked so conflicted when he had stepped through the doorway was that he had been reluctant to tell _Lovino_ about their father’s call. Lovino was supposed to be there for his brother and make him feel safe, not intimidate him and make him feel reluctant to talk to him. He wasn’t supposed to let anything get in the way of that, and yet his bitterness for his father had made him forget about that.

The Italian narrowed his eyes, which were still fixed at the kitchen cabinet in front of him. He felt disgusted just thinking about the stuff he’d find in there, and the worst part was that it was only a temporary fix and he would have to do it again in a few weeks.

Why was it that Lovino felt like he was always falling short of everything, whether it was fixing things at their crappy apartment or doing what was best for his brother?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to share your thoughts on this chapter in the comments - hearing from you guys is what motivates me to keep writing this story!
> 
> I apologize for not being able to keep up with the regular updates - once again, thank you for being patient with me!


	20. Choice

It had been around five minutes since the bell had rung to signal the end of the last period of classes.

Antonio sat on one of the benches in the schoolyard, watching the stream of students that walked past him on their way to either home or after-school activities. Or at least he probably looked like he was watching them, but in reality, he hardly registered their faces or the pieces of conversations that turned into unintelligible noise as soon as they reached his ears. 

_What am I going to do now?_ the Spaniard thought as the sense of hopelessness that had been eating away at him since morning threatened to overwhelm him.

Since the beginning of the week, Antonio had been trying to cover up the fact that his old ankle injury had started bothering him. The Spaniard had hardly had any problems with his ankle since he had recovered from his injury two years ago, but it seemed like the intense practice schedule of the previous week had brought him over his limit. Until the day before, he had managed to perform as usual in practice even though he could feel that something was off on every step he took with his bad ankle. He had hoped that he would be able to keep pushing himself and avoid making a fuss out of his injury before the competition, where he needed to perform well in order to advance to the National Championships.

However, when they had tested their times in today’s morning practice, Antonio had felt a sharp pain shoot through his ankle when he’d sprung up from the starting position, causing him to stumble. He had been left with no choice but to confess that his ankle was bothering him, and the coach had concluded that it was best for him to sit out the remaining practices before the competition.

Antonio’s chest felt tight with anxiety as he thought of the competition and whether or not his ankle would be any better then after only two days of rest. He couldn’t help but to wonder if his stubbornness to keep his problem to himself would cost him the National Championship before the season had even started.

The Spaniard thought of his miserable failure in the middle school finals two years ago, which was ironically where he had injured his ankle in the first place. He remembered the overwhelming sense of horror and disbelief that he’d felt when he’d watched the distance between himself and his fellow competitions grow larger; when it had fully dawned on him that his momentarily loss of focus had cost him the victory he had worked so hard for. Then he thought of the cold disappointment with which his parents had treated him for weeks after the race, making him question the meaning of everything he had held important in his life until then.

The memories were like a pit of quicksand that pulled Antonio in until he felt like he was suffocating, sand filling his lungs instead of air on every breath he took. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing as he tried to block the flow of memories from his mind.

However, it was no use trying to to shut off the memories of his failure from two years ago when all he could see in the near future was the same thing happening all over again.

The Spaniard imagined the looks of disappointment on his parents faces if they 

found out that the consequence of his past failure was threatening to ruin his last season in high school. The thought caused the air to get stuck in his throat while his lungs felt like they were full of sand.

“Antonio?”

Antonio’s eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, which reached his ears from right in front of him. After blinking a couple of times to get his eyes used to the bright sunlight, the Spaniard was met with a pair of beautiful amber eyes that were studying him worriedly from under a pair of furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing?” 

Antonio blinked, still struggling to pull himself out of the pit of quicksand that he had been sinking into. 

“I... I’m just waiting here for...” Antonio trailed off, failing miserably in his attempt to construct a proper sentence that would explain why he had been sitting in the middle of the schoolyard with his eyes closed. “...practice”.

The word left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was the only word that came to his mind when he thought of what he was doing - or, to be more accurate, what he was _not_ doing.

“Practice? But isn’t it supposed to be starting already?” Lovino asked as his eyebrows furrowed a little further. 

Antonio’s eyes landed on the small crease that formed on the bridge of the other boy’s nose.

_Since when have frowns been so cute?_  the Spaniard found himself wondering as his eyes lingered distractedly on the other boy’s face.

Somehow the random thought managed to bring some clarity into Antonio’s troubled mind as he tried to think of how to explain himself to the other boy. When he couldn’t think of any excuse he could use to avoid telling Lovino the truth, the Spaniard briefly closed his eyes again, letting a small sigh pass through his parted lips.

“Yeah”, he finally said, letting his look fall to his lap like a child who had been caught lying to his parents. “I've been having some trouble with my ankle and the coach told me to sit it out.” 

Antonio felt the same tightness from earlier fill his chest, as if speaking the words out loud made the problem that he had tried so hard to deny even more real. He drew in a wavering breath, expecting the air to get stuck in his throat like it had before. When he felt the air enter his lungs like it was supposed to, the Spaniard lifted his look up in surprise. 

The auburn-haired boy was still standing in from him, studying him with his brows creased in a concerned frown. However, when Antonio met his eyes, he finally moved from his spot and sat down on the bench next to the Spaniard.

“If you can’t go to practice”, Lovino said after a moment of silence, “then what are you still doing here?” 

Lovino’s head was tilted slightly to the side as he raised his eyebrows curiously at the Spaniard. The attentive look in his amber eyes made Antonio feel strangely bare, as if the other boy could see right through him. 

“My parents think I’m in practice”, Antonio confessed, letting his look fall back to his lap. “I can’t go home early.”

Lovino didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t show any intention of leaving Antonio back to his brooding thoughts. The Spaniard found himself feeling grateful for the other boy’s silent presence, which somehow made his mind clearer and his breathing easier.

After the silence had stretched on a while longer without becoming uncomfortable, Antonio cast a brief glance at the boy sitting next to him. He was no longer studying the Spaniard, but instead he was facing the cobblestone path in front of them with a thoughtful look in his amber eyes. The depth in his eyes spoke of the kind of experience and responsibility that were rare for someone as young as him, which reminded Antonio of how much of a mystery the auburn-haired boy was to him. He couldn’t help but to feel intrigued to know what was behind that thoughtful look and the lack of pretentiousness that made him stand out from any other person that the Spaniard knew. 

“You don’t think your parents would understand if they knew about your ankle?” Lovino asked in a careful tone, meeting Antonio’s look from the corner of his eye.

Antonio didn’t have to hesitate before shaking his head in response. 

“They can’t think I’m slacking off before Saturday’s competition, no matter what the reason.” 

The Spaniard had time to see the frown return to Lovino’s face before he dropped his look back down.

“Do you ever worry about failing to meet the expectations your parents have for you?” Antonio asked after a moment of silence.

Lovino let out a humorless laugh that sounded more like a snort, causing the Spaniard to lift his head up in surprise. 

“Why worry about something that doesn’t exist?”

Antonio could hear the bitter tone in Lovino’s voice, but the unreadable expression on his face made him feel like an invisible wall had suddenly sprung up between him and the other boy. It wasn’t quite the same as the aura of distrust and wariness that the auburn-haired boy had carried around him before, which made Antonio feel like he might have really gained a little bit of his trust along the way. However, the way the other boy had closed himself behind a protective shield as soon as Antonio had mentioned parents made it clear that it was a sensitive topic to him.

“If they don’t care about you hurting your ankle, why should you should care about meeting their expectations?” Lovino asked before Antonio could think of a response to his previous comment.

The bluntness of both his words and the tone he used to say them caught the Spaniard by surprise, even though that blunt honesty was exactly what he found so intriguing about the other boy. As he lifted up his look to once again glance at the auburn-haired boy, Antonio found his eyes to be fixed at the path in front of them while the expression on his face remained unreadable.

He couldn’t deny that there was some sense to what Lovino had said, even if he hadn’t really thought of it that way before. He had been taught that it was his duty to be a good son after everything that his parents had done for him. After all, he was luckily to have been born to parents who could provide him with such a high standard of living and enroll him in the best school in whatever city they lived in. It was their way of caring for him and ensuring that he would have the best possible future ahead of him, even if he sometimes felt like they were rarely there for him.

Antonio thought back to when his mother had told him on the phone that her and her husband’s business trip would be extended and how disappointed he’d felt even though it had hardly been the first time it had happened. Then he thought back to the lack of sympathy his parents had showed for him after his failure in the middle school sprinting finals two years ago, and how that had made him question their love for him. They hadn’t cared about his injury or how disappointed he’d felt after having all his hard work end in a failure. They had only cared about the fact that he had failed to be the perfect son that they wanted him to be, and that his failure might have posed a threat to the future that they had planned out for him.

However, the Spaniard thought with a familiar feeling of hollowness in his chest, he didn’t have anyone else but his parents and he didn’t know any other way to live than the one they had taught him. 

“I feel like I don’t have a choice”, Antonio said truthfully, following Lovino’s example by turning his look to the cobblestone path in front of them. 

“There’s always a choice”, the other boy replied quietly after a moment of silence. “You’ll just have to figure out what’s the right one.”

As he considered his words, the Spaniard once again turned his head to study the boy sitting next to him on the bench. His look was fixed down at the cobblestones in front of his feet and his brows creased slightly in thought. For a moment, Antonio found himself captivated by the way his long eyelashes casted shadows on his skin, which looked almost golden in the afternoon sun.  

“You sound like you’re talking from experience”, Antonio pointed out carefully after finally tearing his eyes off of the other boy’s face. 

The Spaniard wasn’t sure if Lovino trusted  him enough to share anything too personal with him, but he couldn’t help but to to feel intrigued to know more about the other boy and how he had come to be the person that he was today; the person that was so refreshingly different from anyone else that Antonio knew. 

“I made a choice a long time ago”, Lovino started slowly, his look still fixed down as he idly removed dirt from the tip of one of his black Converses with his other foot. “Not just for myself, but for Feli too.”

The thoughtful frown on the auburn-haired boy’s face deepened as he gave up in his attempt to remove the dried dirt from his shoe.  

“I swore not to accept any help from our father.”

Antonio didn’t miss the way Lovino’s tone hardened and how he loaded the last word with so much spite that it sounded like it was the worst insult that he knew. It made it easy to conclude that the auburn-haired boy had a difficult relationship with his father, which explained the way he had reacted when the Spaniard had mentioned parents earlier.

“Yesterday, he made an offer to Feli”, Lovino continued, taking his time to find the right words to describe his problem. Antonio got the feeling that the other boy was making an effort to get the point across without revealing too many details. 

“He made him an important offer, but Feli didn’t accept it because...”, Lovino paused to cast Antonio a quick glance from the corner of his eye. The Spaniard caught a glimpse of the conflicted look in his amber eyes before he dropped his look down again. “...because he knows that I don’t want him to. I just want to protect him, but I feel like I’ve made him feel pressured and now he’s upset with me.”

Antonio had never been in a position where he could have made decisions for anyone else but himself - in fact, he didn’t have much of a say in any important decisions concerning himself even. However, the look in Lovino’s eyes, the regret in his voice and the way his shoulders seemed to be physically weighted down under an invisible burden told Antonio that the auburn-haired boy had carried a lot of responsibility since an age that was probably way too young. The Spaniard guessed that his parents hadn’t been there for him or his brother as much as he would’ve liked them to either, but he wondered if that was the whole reason why the other boy had so much resentment for his father. 

“I think you should explain to him why don’t want him to accept your father’s offer”, Antonio said slowly, studying the other boy’s slightly slumped figure with concern, “but if it’s really important to him, I think you should let him decide for himself in the end.”

Lovino remained quiet but lifted up his head to fix a thoughtful look at the mostly deserted schoolyard in front of them. 

“I’ll apologize to him today”, he said, meeting Antonio’s eyes with a new look of determination in his amber eyes. 

Antonio nodded, giving the auburn-haired boy a small smile. “That’s a good idea.” 

“I’ll go buy some groceries before he comes home”, the auburn-haired boy decided, straightening his posture as he prepared to stand up. 

“He can’t be upset with me if I make his favorite pasta sauce for dinner.”

Antonio let out a chuckle, happy to hear the lighter tone in the other boy’s voice.  

Lovino met the Spaniard’s eyes, his brows suddenly creasing in concern again as he held his look for a rare two seconds. 

“Just... don’t hurt yourself, okay?”, the auburn-haired boy finally said as his look fell to Antonio’s ankles. “Whatever expectations your parents have, it’s not worth it.”

The genuine concern in Lovino’s eyes reminded Antonio of the caring look he had in his eyes when he looked at his brother; the look that had made Antonio feel envious of the close relationship between the two brothers. Having Lovino look at him in that same way hit the Spaniard with a sudden pang of emotions, leaving him at a momentary loss of words. 

Antonio’s look fell to Lovino’s hand, which was resting on the bench next to his thigh. On a sudden impulse, the Spaniard reached out to place his hand on top of the other boy’s, giving it a light squeeze. He hoped that the gesture would convey at least some of the feelings that he was unable to put into words.

“I won’t”, Antonio promised, holding onto Lovino’s hand for a few seconds longer. “Good luck with Feliciano”, he added while lifting up his head to meet the auburn-haired boy’s eyes once more.  

Lovino’s eyes were slightly widened in surprise, but he didn’t make any effort to remove his hand from under the Spaniard’s. The other boy’s skin felt almost concerningly warm under his hand, probably due to the the thick-looking pullover he was wearing regardless of the hot weather. 

When Antonio finally moved his hand, Lovino blinked his eyes as if it had only just occurred to him what had happened, then quickly dropped his look down. The Spaniard was quite sure that the color of his cheeks was notably redder than just moments ago, which couldn’t have been explained by the hot weather or the thick pullover. 

“Thanks”, the auburn-haired boy said after a short moment of silence before finally standing up from the bench. “See you tomorrow”, he said, casting Antonio a final glance before quickly walking off to the direction of the parking lot.

Antonio watched Lovino make his way down the cobblestone path, unable to stop himself from smiling as he thought of how adorable the look on his face had been just a moment ago. 

Before Lovino had sat down next to him on the bench, the Spaniard had felt completely hopeless as he’d thought about his ankle and the upcoming competition. However, even after he had left, Antonio did not sink back into the same pit of hopelessness, but instead he found himself thinking about what Lovino had told him:

_There’s always a choice._ _You’ll just have to figure out what’s the right one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please tell me your thoughts on it in the comments!


	21. Brothers

For the past few hours, Feliciano had been trying to convince himself that he wasn’t avoiding going home.

After taking his English exam, the Italian had spent the afternoon hanging out at the mall with some of his classmates, sitting in a McDonald’s and then wandering around stores, looking at clothing items that were each worth more than his monthly allowance.

Now he was back in the school grounds, sitting in the stands of the outdoor basketball court and watching as his classmates played a casual game of three-on-three. Truthfully speaking, he didn’t care about basketball all that much, but as long as he didn’t have to play, he didn’t really have anything better to do. His next exam was on Monday, so technically he wasn’t in any hurry to go home to study, and even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself, the thought of going home to Lovino made his insides tighten unpleasantly.

Feliciano shifted in his seat, lifting his feet off of the ground and pulling his knees to his chest. Down on the basketball court, a tall, muscular blond performed a set of impressive moves, leaving his defender behind as he made his way to the basket. Another defender rushed to block him, but the blond skillfully guided the ball over his hands and through the hoop, as if the guy in front of him had been nothing but thin air. One of the two other guys on the blond’s team let out a triumphant yell, which was echoed by some of the other guys sitting in the stands below Feliciano. 

The blond himself - Ludwig - appeared completely unfazed by the attention as he picked up the ball from under the basket and passed it to his teammate on the three-pointer line.

Feliciano found himself following the muscular blond with his eyes as he took his position on the free-throw line, trying to keep his defender behind him. Ludwig was Gilbert’s younger brother, but while Gilbert usually wore a menacing sneer on his face, Ludwig’s face hardly ever showed any emotion whatsoever. While Gilbert was known for picking fights with people for whatever reason he could come up with, Ludwig stayed quietly out of trouble, not attracting any unnecessary attention to himself. However, the combination of his tall and muscular build, the stoic look on his face, and the fact that he was Gilbert’s brother was still enough to make the blond appear quite intimidating. 

The sound of his phone buzzing three times in the front compartment of his backpack caught Feliciano’s attention, causing him to finally take his eyes off of the basketball court. He could guess who the messages were from before he even saw the notifications on his phone screen.

**Fratello**

_Hey, Feli_

_I’m making dinner_

_Be home at 7?_

Feliciano stared at the messages on his phone screen as the conflicted feelings that had been bothering him the whole day gnawed at his insides. 

Ever since their argument on the day before, the two hadn’t spoken to each other aside from a few tense words at the breakfast table. The air between them had been contaminated by bitter feelings that had been brought up by the phone call Feliciano had got from his father. After three months of nothing, his father had called him just to persuade him into letting him show his works at his gallery for new talent. Of course the offer was tempting to him, but the Italian knew his father well enough to know that he only made offers like that out of selfish motives. His best guess was that his father wanted to use him to improve his imagine in the eyes of the media: showcasing his son’s artistic potential would be the perfect opportunity to turn over a new leaf after the negative attention he’d got over the years for his relationship with Feliciano and Lovino’s mother. 

By sprinkling him with words of praise and pretending to care about him after not bothering to call even once in the past three months, Feliciano’s father had only proven his own selfishness once again. Of course it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Feliciano, who had deep down always known it, no matter how much he had wanted to believe otherwise. However, being reminded of the bitter truth that his father only cared about him when it was convenient for him had still served as a painful blow to the young Italian. It had been enough to knock him off of his feet when he’d just started to feel like everything could actually be okay, like he wasn’t as much of a worthless waste of space as he often felt he was. 

Feliciano wished he could have turned all the pain and betrayal that he felt into anger towards his father the same way that Lovino did. However, the only person that Feliciano could really feel angry at was himself, because it was his fault that he had kept denying the truth for so long. It was Feliciano’s own fault that he kept letting his father disappoint him over and over again, and the worst part of it was that it wasn’t only him who was getting hurt because of it. 

Feliciano thought back to the day before, when he had come home and told his brother about his father’s call. He had known to expect it, but that hadn’t made it any easier for him to stand in front of his brother and watch as the look in his eyes turned hard and piercing. It wasn’t that he had been afraid, because he knew that Lovino would never physically hurt him. However, the way his brother had looked at him with the same distrust and bitterness that he harbored for their father had hurt Feliciano more than a slap to the face or a punch to the gut.

Lovino had been the one person who had always been by his side and who he trusted with all his heart, and yet Feliciano couldn’t do the same for him. Every time he had defended their father to Lovino so that he could keep deceiving himself, he had shown him that he had more loyalty for someone who had never truly cared for either one of them than he had for his brother. 

The thought made Feliciano feel disgusted at himself as he continued to stare at his brother’s messages. All day, he had been avoiding his brother, trying to ignore the guilt and self-disgust that had been eating away at him since the previous evening. However, he couldn’t avoid him forever, and he knew that the only thing he could do to make things right was to show Lovino that he could trust him, that he was loyal to  _him_  and not their father.

The young Italian hovered his index finger over his phone screen, staring at his brother’s messages for a few seconds longer before finally typing a reply.  

_Okay_

_See you, fratello ^^_

Once he was done, Feliciano placed the phone back in the front compartment of his backpack, which was lying on the seat next to him. He knew what he had to do, and yet the thought of having to face his brother while knowing that  _he didn’t trust him_  made his insides twist with guilt and shame. 

Guilt for failing to be the brother that Lovino deserved. 

Shame for being too weak to accept the truth about his father. 

 _Just how pathetic can you be?_  The jarring voice that had been unusually quiet in the past few weeks whispered in Feliciano’s head, reminding him of its existence.

_Letting down the one person who’s put up with you all this time for the sake of a delusion?_

Feliciano forced himself to snap out of it before the self-depreciating thoughts pulled him in too deep. He was not about to go back to the dark place he’d been in until just two weeks ago, before his strange chat with Antonio in the arts classroom. He would keep himself together and show Lovino that he didn’t have any intention to go running to his father the moment he was nice to him; he would show himself that he wasn’t a pathetic waste of space, no matter what the voice in his head kept telling him. 

With that thought in his mind, the Italian focused his attention back to the basketball court in front of him, where the six guys had just finished their game. 

“I’m getting hungry”, Alfred announced in his usual loud voice as he and the rest of the guys reached the side of the court. “You guys wanna go to the mall and grab some burgers?” 

His suggestion was met by approval from everyone except for Ludwig, who had made his way straight to the stands after nodding at his teammates as a good-bye. The tall blond had never been exactly sociable, but before Gilbert had been kicked out of the basketball team, he had sometimes tagged along to hang out with the other guys at the mall. However, in the past half a year, he had only joined them for playing basketball, probably purely for the sake of getting some extra practice. 

Feliciano guessed that he must have felt guilty for the trouble that Gilbert had caused to the team - and the whole school - by doing whatever he pleased and beating up everybody who stood in his way. In the past few weeks, Feliciano had noticed the discreet looks that the other members of the basketball team gave the blond from afar whenever Gilbert’s recent confrontation with Alfred was brought up. Of course Gilbert’s doings weren’t Ludwig’s fault and Ludwig had never caused any trouble himself despite his intimidating looks, but that didn’t stop people from mentally linking the two to each other simply because they were brothers.  

“You joining us, Feli?” one of Feliciano’s classmates called, breaking the Italian out of his thoughts. The others had already finished gathering their things, ready to leave the court and head to the mall. 

Feliciano shook his head from where he was still sitting in the stands. “Sorry, I can’t today. I have to go home.” 

“‘Kay, see ya”, his classmate called with a wave. 

Feliciano returned the wave and smiled at the other guys before turning to dig out his phone from the front compartment of his backpack again. He typed in the passcode and opened his chat with Lovino. Lovino had seen his message but hadn’t responded anything, which didn’t come as a surprise to Feliciano – his brother had never been too fond of texting anyway. 

The young Italian finally stood up, tucking his phone into his back pocket and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. It was 6:32pm already, which meant that he had to leave soon if he wanted to be home by 7. Lovino probably wasn’t expecting him at exactly 7 since he wasn’t usually the most punctual person, but today Feliciano wanted to be on time. After all, his brother was making him dinner regardless of the fact that they had barely spoken since their argument. The thought caused the young Italian to feel yet another twinge of guilt and shame for his own selfishness.

As he turned to make his way to the stairs leading down onto the court, Feliciano’s look passed over the rows of seats above him. He found himself coming to a halt as his eyes caught the muscular form of Ludwig sitting further up, focused on reading the large book that he had laid out on his lap. 

Feliciano watched him for a moment, but the blond was too focused on his book to notice him. The Italian found himself wondering what he was reading, and why he had chosen to stay by the deserted basketball court instead of going home. Unable to supress the curiosity that suddenly took over him, Feliciano changed his course to walk up the stairs until he reached Ludwig’s row.  

The blond finally lifted his eyes up from the book, fixing them at the Italian who had come to a halt in the stairs next to his row. There was a hint of surprise on his usually stoic features, but he didn’t look like he was annoyed to be distracted from his reading. Feliciano took that as his permission to walk the rest of the way to the other boy and sit down next to him.

“Hey”, he said, giving the other boy a small smile before letting his eyes fall to the open book in his lap. The pages were full of formulas and graphs in addition to long paragraphs of text. “You’re studying physics?” 

“Yeah”, Ludwig responded, following Feliciano’s example and turning his eyes back to the textbook. “I have an exam tomorrow.” 

Feliciano nodded, focusing his attention back to the boy sitting next to him. Even though they’d shared a lot of classes together during the previous year, the Italian only remembered talking to Ludwig on a few occasions, the most recent time being when he’d accidentally ran into him while having a panic attack. While the blond’s usual stoic expression and muscular build made him look intimidating at the first glance, Feliciano found himself thinking that there was actually something calming about his deep voice and the way he pronounced each word carefully with his prominent German accent.

“How are you doing?” Ludwig asked after a moment of silence, lifting his eyes up from the physics book to examine the Italian’s face. “Nobody’s bothering you anymore?”  

The blond’s eyebrows were creased in a small, concerned frown that reminded Feliciano of the moment when he’d held him upright by the shoulders after he’d run into him. In that moment, all he had been able to think about was finding his brother as quickly as possible, so the memory of Ludwig examining his face with that same concerned frown had been lost in a sequence of blurry images. However, now that the Italian looked at him more carefully, he noted that his eyes were the same color as the light blue sky; nothing like the dark, purple-tinted color of his brothers’.

“I…”, Feliciano started, shifting his eyes from the other boy’s face back to the textbook in his lap. “…I’m doing fine”, he managed to say, even though he wasn’t exactly sure about the truthfulness of his words. “Nobody’s bothering me.” At least the last bit was true, for Gilbert had made no attempts to approach the Italian ever since their encounter in the hallway. 

Ludwig nodded slowly at his words, but Feliciano could still feel his attentive eyes studying him. When he lifted up his look to once again face the other boy, the Italian noted that the concerned frown on his face had been replaced by relief and something that he could only describe as a grim look of content.

“You’re not upset that… that somebody punched your brother?” he asked the other boy carefully after a moment of silence.

Ludwig shook his head, facing the basketball court as the look in his sky-blue eyes became sad. “He’s had it coming for a long time already.”

Feliciano’s eyes remained on the boy next to him as he carefully considered his words. 

He thought of how horrible he’d felt each time he’d seen Lovino get hurt; how he would have rather gotten hurt himself than watched his brother get beaten up for standing up for him. Lovino was always ready to stand up for him, no matter how much trouble it got him into; he was always ready to pick up the pieces when Feliciano broke apart, even when the younger felt like he didn’t deserve someone like him as his brother. 

The thought of being so nonchalant about someone punching his brother in the face was completely absurd to Feliciano, but then again, it was also absurd to him to imagine what it would have been like to have Gilbert as his brother. If he had grown up watching his brother threaten and beat up people for his own amusement, maybe he too would have felt like it was only fair for him to get a taste of his own medicine for once.

“I’m glad you’re not like him”, Feliciano ended up saying, still trying to imagine what it was like to be Gilbert’s younger brother. _Maybe I’m not the only one avoiding going home tonight_ , the Italian thought as he watched the pensive profile of the boy sitting next to him. “You’re a nice guy.”

“Thank you”, Ludwig said, meeting Feliciano’s eyes for a short moment. “I’m glad you think so.”

The Italian could tell from the genuine look in his serious, sky-blue eyes that the other boy really meant what he said. He found himself thinking that there was something strangely captivating about the way his eyes were so expressive even though the look on his face remained stoic.

Feliciano gave the blond a small smile, feeling a sense of warmth in his chest at the thought that his words had meant something to the other boy. His eyes lingered on Ludwig’s sculpted profile for a while longer before he reminded himself that he had to leave in time to catch the bus or else he wouldn’t make it home by 7. 

“I gotta go now”, the Italian said, trying not to feel too disappointed at the bought of leaving so soon. “Good luck with your exam”, he added, casting a glance at the textbook in the other boy’s lap. 

Ludwig nodded his head in reply. “Thank you.”

With a final smile and a quick “see you”, Feliciano   got back on his feet, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and headed down the stairs and onto the basketball court.

Then he made his way behind the stands and out of the school grounds, just in time to catch the bus home at 6:45pm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been a while since the last update, but this chapter is proof that I haven’t forgotten about this story! I hope you enjoyed it!


	22. One Step After the Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I'm back with another update! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Phrases such as "you did your best" or "it could have been worse" had never offered Antonio much comfort. After all, he had lived his whole life thinking that only the best was good enough, so naturally everything that fell short of "the best" was to be considered a failure.

According to that logic, Antonio thought as he lay on his bed with his eyes fixed at the ceiling window above him, there was no arguing that he had failed miserably in his sprinting competition today.

Two days of rest hadn't been enough to make his ankle any better from the shape it had been in on Thursday, and even though he had been able to finish the 200-meter race in second place, the Spaniard had decided to sit out the 100-meter one to avoid making his injury worse. His coach had supported his decision, wanting to make sure he would be fully recovered for his 200-meter race in the semifinals, which would be held in early December.

Even though the reasoning behind his decision made sense, Antonio still felt a little surprised at the fact that he had actually made that decision by himself. He knew that had he been in the same position at any time in his past, he would have never been able to walk up to his coach and tell him that he wanted to sit out a race. He would have rather done everything he could to hide his injury from everybody and participate in both races, even if he had doubts about whether his ankle would be able to handle the strain.

However, this time Antonio had decided that he would rather sit out a race and disappoint his parents today than risk ruining the rest of his season. Before telling his parents about his decision, the Spaniard had prepared to relive one of the worst moments in his life: the moment when he had had to face his parents after his failure in the middle school finals. He could still remember how his insides had turned into ice and how everything around him had faded into a blur until all that had existed was him, his parents, and the cold looks of disappointment on their faces.

However, even though the looks of disappointment he'd faced today had been nearly identical to the ones engraved in his memory, this time they had failed to have the same effect on him: instead of seeping into every bit of his being, the coldness had blown over him like an icy breeze, prickling at his skin and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but passing in a matter of seconds.

Instead of thinking about his failure and his parents' disappointment in him, Antonio had found himself thinking about something that Lovino had told him two days ago:

_Just... don't hurt yourself, okay?_

_Whatever expectations your parents have, it's not worth it._

Antonio thought of the look of concern in Lovino's deep amber eyes, the slight crease between his eyebrows and the warmth of his hand under the Spaniard's own. Even now, the memory of that moment made him feel a sense of warmth in his chest as the same emotions that had left him at a loss of words on Thursday stirred somewhere deep within him. Those emotions were stronger than the disappointment he felt for failing to meet his parents' expectations, Antonio realized, feeling a little taken aback by his own discovery.

The one thing that had stayed constant throughout his whole life was the need to make his parents proud, so now that the disappointed looks on his parents' faces seemed to have lost their power, the Spaniard felt like nothing in his life suddenly made any sense. However, instead of feeling lost, Antonio realized that in that moment, sitting next to Lovino on that bench and seeing him look at him in that same caring way that he'd looked at his brother, he had felt like for the first time in his life, he was exactly where he belonged.

Until now, in all the different countries and cities that he'd lived in, Antonio had always felt a little out of place. His everyday life might not have been that different depending on where he lived, and experience might have taught him how to adapt quickly to new surroundings, but that didn't change the fact that wherever he went, he was always a _foreigner_. There was no country where he would have truly been considered one of the locals, and there was no country that truly felt like the right answer when people asked him where he came from.

The Spaniard felt a hint of a familiar ache in his chest as he lay still on his back, closing his eyes as a series of snapshots from his past surfaced in his mind.

The first one was the view from a bus window from his first trip to a track competition in France. Endless green and yellow fields spread out into the distance, speckled with small patches of woods and clusters of houses, and the sun was rising in the horizon far away. Besides the view, he could remember the feeling of fresh, clean air coming in from the ceiling window somebody had opened, gently caressing his face and tousling his hair.

It had been a while since he had seen so much space, such a lack of tall buildings and traffic jams that he had seen wherever he'd gone in Manila, where he'd lived in his parents' penthouse condo for the past six months. In fact, the last time he'd seen so much space - if you didn't count the view from an airplane - had been during the trip they'd made to a private beach only weeks before leaving the Philippines.

The green and yellow fields and the orange glow of the rising sun faded away as a different view painted itself in Antonio's mind: the view from the terrace of a holiday villa that his parents' acquaintances in Manila had invited them to for dinner. It was a beautiful two-floor building made out of white wood and adorned by elaborate carved patterns, located right by a beach of fine white sand. The rainy season had just started, so the warm air was thick with humidity. However, unlike in the city, where the heat was trapped in an endless maze of concrete, here the refreshing breeze coming from the sea made Antonio feel like he finally had enough air to breathe.

However, somehow the sight of the vast, unbounded sea had made the Spaniard feel a sense of powerlessness, reminding him of his own limited freedom. The voices of his parents and their hosts chatting inside the house had mixed with the distant sound of the waves washing to the shore, disrupting the peaceful evening.

Their hosts had a daughter of the same age as Antonio, and the Spaniard was quite sure that the reason his parents had brought him there with them was to introduce him to her. It had been neither the first nor the last time his parents had introduced him to someone that they considered "appropriate company" for him. It wasn't like they were in a hurry to marry him off, but he knew that they were already thinking about the future and how he would eventually have to find a partner who would bring honor to the family.

The girl had been very pretty, with petite features, smooth, light bronze skin and wavy black hair that was long enough to reach her slim waist. Her father was a South Korean diplomat and her mother hosted a TV show that was very popular in the Philippines. The moment Antonio had laid his eyes on her, he had been able to tell that she was used to people looking at her in admiration, and the way she had looked at Antonio had made him feel like he was an auction item whose value she was evaluating before placing her bid. The Spaniard had instantly recognized that look from the previous times his parents had introduced him to the daughter or son of their acquaintances.

The dark, calculating eyes of the pretty girl slowly faded from Antonio's mind, replaced by a very different pair of eyes that studied him carefully from under a pair of creased eyebrows. These eyes were the color of molten amber, with a ring of darker brown around the pupils. However, it wasn't the beautiful color that Antonio found the most mesmerizing about those eyes. It was the depth he saw when he looked into them; the depth that drew him in and made him want to know more about the other boy and how he had come to be so different from all the rich kids that his parents had introduced him to.

Once again, the Spaniard found himself thinking about the way the auburn-haired boy had looked at him while telling him not to hurt himself for the sake of his parents' expectations, and how he had promised him that he wouldn't. By sitting out the 100-meter race, Antonio had honored that promise; he had discovered that just like Lovino had told him, he indeed _did_ have a choice, and he had figured out what felt like the right one in that moment. In fact, even after seeing the disappointed looks on his parents' faces and knowing that he had failed to meet their expectations, Antonio still felt like he had made the right choice.

The Spaniard shifted on the bed, opening his eyes and once again fixing them at the ceiling window above him. There was still light outside, but he could see through the parted window blinds that there were clouds gathering in the sky, blocking out the afternoon sun. The sky had still been clear when he'd come back from the competition with his parents, and the Spaniard wondered how long it had been since he'd laid down on the bed. It wasn't like him at all to lose track of time, but then again, it also wasn't like him to sit out a race or to spend his afternoon lying in bed and staring at the sky.

The lack of guilt that Antonio felt for lying in bed without doing anything useful was almost as strange as the lack of disappointment he felt for his performance in the competition. In fact, the only thing that really bothered him at the moment was the thought of having to have dinner together with his parents later in the evening.

His parents had always stressed how valuable time was for people like them, so in the rare occasions that they chose to spend it doing something together as a family, Antonio had always felt a little nervous that he would make them regret that decision. However, today he was sure that sitting at the dining table with his parents would be exceptionally awkward, even if the food made by the old Italian lady who worked as their housekeeper was always delicious.

Even though being alone in the empty house when his parents were away sometimes made him feel a little lonely, Antonio now found himself thinking that he would have much rather spent the rest of the evening lying alone in his bed than having dinner with his parents. In fact, if his parents hadn't been at home, the Spaniard could have even asked Lovino if he wanted to come over and have dinner with him.

The thought of seeing the auburn-haired boy replaced the feeling of emptiness in Antonio's chest with a tingling sense of warmth. The Spaniard's look shifted from the ceiling window to the phone lying on the nightstand next to his bed. On a sudden impulse, he propped himself on his elbow and reached out to grab the phone, then leaned back against the backboard of the bed and opened his chat with Lovino.

Antonio hovered his finger over the typing field as he read through their previous messages, all of which were about practical issues concerning their English group project. He found himself thinking back to the conversation they'd had on Thursday, and how Lovino had been troubled by the argument he'd had with his brother. The Spaniard had only caught a glimpse of the auburn-haired boy at school on the day before, and he had been too preoccupied worrying about his sprinting competition to try to approach him. However, now that he no longer had the competition to worry about, Antonio found himself wondering if the two brothers had managed to resolve their argument.

The Spaniard hesitated for a few more seconds before finally typing a short message.

_Hey, Lovino! How are you doing?_

He wasn't sure how long it would take for the other boy to respond, so after spending another few seconds staring at the message he'd just sent, Antonio placed his phone next to him on the bed, leaning his head against the wall behind him. Only minutes later, the Spaniard was startled by two consecutive "bling" sounds that his phone made to notify him of new messages. He instinctively reached out to pick up the device, using his fingerprint to get past the lock screen.

_Hey_

_I'm fine_

It took a while longer before a third message appeared on Antonio's screen.

_How's your ankle?_

The question caught Antonio by surprise, as anybody else would have first asked him how he had done in the competition instead of how his injury was. However, after his initial surprise, the Spaniard found himself feeling relieved for not having to explain how he had placed second in one race and skipped the other one altogether. The fact that Lovino treated him so differently from everyone else was the very reason he had felt the urge to message him in the first place, Antonio thought as a small smile made its way into his lips.

 _It will be fine once I get some rest,_ he paused for a second before adding a period and continuing to type: _Thanks for asking :)_

_That's good_

The smile remained on Antonio's lips as he read the short message that appeared on his phone screen a few seconds later. On a sudden impulse, he typed another message:

_Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow?_

Antonio's parents would be going to Miami to see an opera on the next evening, and they would be staying there for the following week to take care of some business at their company's main office. Even though his parents had only come back from their extended business trip on the previous evening, Spaniard already found himself looking forward to the freedom that came with their absence. As long as he managed to get through dinner with his parents today, he wouldn't have to feel awkward around them or to come up with excuses for going out after school for at least a whole week.

This time Lovino took a little longer to respond, but finally a new message appeared on Antonio's screen:

_Sure_

The single word brought back the tingling sense of warmth that Antonio had felt earlier at the thought of seeing the auburn-haired boy. He stared at the short message for a few seconds longer, wondering how it was possible that a single message from someone he had met less than two months ago made him feel so much, while the disappointment his parents had regarded him with had barely had any effect on him. Now that he thought about it, maybe this was the point he had been heading towards since the very day he had taken Lovino to his place to treat his injuries on his second day of school.

Until then, Antonio had been walking down a narrow path with no junctions, solely focused on making his way towards the future than his parents had planned out for him. However, on that day, he had taken his first step off that path by doing something he knew his parents wouldn't have approved of, simply because it had felt like the right thing to do. He hadn't known where that new path would lead him, and yet he had made the choice to take one step after the other, until he had ended up where he was now.

As he started wondering what kind of food he should cook for tomorrow's dinner, the Spaniard realized that he didn't regret a single one of the steps that he had taken off the narrow path that his parents had laid out for him. The fact that they had gotten him to where he was now was enough proof that for once in his life, Antonio was making the choices that were right for _him_ , whether his parents would have agreed on that or not.

With that thought in his mind, the Spaniard finally typed his reply:

_Great! :) What kind of food do you like?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it - or the story in general - down in the comments! :)


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